Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan Kenobi woke up in a cell. He kind of wished that this wasn’t a regular occurrence for him, but it very much was. Groaning, he took a moment to sort through his recent memories. He’d been out on a solo mission, one of his first as a new Knight, investigating a smuggling ring. Nothing too dangerous, no slavers, just black market goods. He’d gotten a tip off about an exchange on Telos IV and had gone to scout. He hadn’t intended to get close at all, only to check out what goods were ingoing and outgoing with any regularity in the area. He hadn’t even bothered to wear a disguise; knowing that sometimes a Jedi on official business could gain access to information you might not be able to get otherwise. Clearly, something had gone quite wrong.

He rolled his head against the ground, the scrape of duracrete against his cheek unwelcome, and was quickly informed that his face was tender with bruising. Yes, he remembered the fight now. There had been nine of them and frankly, they’d beaten the kriff out of him. His ribs protested sharply as he dragged himself up onto his hands, peeling his smarting face off the floor and prising his gummed up eyes open. 

The first thing he saw was the glow around his left wrist, emanating from a wide silver cuff. With a sinking feeling, he reached out to the Force and found nothing but quiet. Trying to grasp it was like trying to hold onto a quacta with bare hands; slippery and impossible. Force suppressant cuffs. Lovely. Working his wrist in a tight circle, tucking his thumb in, he tried to slip the cuff down over his knuckles to no avail. He swallowed down the panic at having a sense cut off and levered himself into a sitting position to take stock of the space. It wasn’t the first time he’d had the Force taken from him and it wouldn't be the last. He merely had to rely on  his other skills now.

The room was perfectly square and somewhat larger than he was used to from a cell - he could have stretched out to his full height nearly twice over laid out on the ground. The four walls were grey, and rough, the same untreated duracrete as the floor. Obi-Wan didn’t even attempt to hit out at them; without the aid of the force he was far too weak to break through. There was a door set into the wall on his left, durasteel by the looks of it, with a slim hatch in the centre to deliver food. Also impenetrable, then. Once Obi-Wan had heaved himself up to sit, he saw that in the corner directly opposite there was a simple, durasteel toilet and a bundle of blankets. It was reassuring to see some comfort provided; normally they didn’t bother when torture was on the cards. The whole space was lit by one dim electric light that gave no indication of the time of day, and cast the whole cell in a sort of sickly half-light. 

Obi-Wan took better stock of his body. His face hurt like he’d been hit by a bantha and he could feel where blood had dried and was caking off around his nose and mouth. Ribs, definitely bruised, but with any luck not broken. He held his breath as he reached a hand carefully to his left bicep and couldn’t help the gusting sigh of relief when he found no wound, no new scar, and when he pressed just that much harder with his fingertips, he could make out the bump of his suppressant implant. Thank the Force they hadn’t removed it. They either hadn’t realised he was an omega or had no interest in trying to use his instincts against him. That pretty much ruled out slavers; they would never have left it in when omegas are so much more pliable when unsuppressed. 

With any luck he was just being held to ransom back to the Order; it was perfectly clear from his clothes what he was, and few criminals in the galaxy were actually willing to execute Jedi if they could avoid it. Everyone knew that you didn’t want the wrath of an angry Master or Padawan tearing down upon you. He noted that he was still in his tunics, tabards, and leggings but that they’d taken his boots and belt. And, of course, his lightsaber. Obi-Wan cursed his luck. How did this keep happening to him? 

When his muffled curse was answered with a whimper, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Force, but that sounded like a child. 

“Hello?” He asked hesitantly, wondering if there was some hidden grate or drain that meant he could hear into a cell next to him. That was promising for an escape attempt. Instead, his cautious greeting was met with a rustling in the heap of blankets within his own cell and after a few moments a tiny head of tousled black curls appeared from the pile. 

What the actual kriff. That was a child. A young one too; Obi-Wan would have guessed two standard at most. What in Corellian hells were they doing here? 

Two big, brown eyes blinked sleepily at him and the child whimpered again, sounding scared and hurt. Obi-Wan’s omega instincts may be suppressed, but he wasn’t heartless and immediately he tried to haul himself to his feet. This proved difficult when a powerful wave of nausea swept through his gut about halfway up, and he was forced to collapse back down to hands and knees. A concussion then. Wonderful. He panted into the floor for a few moments while swallowing down the rush of sour saliva that threatened to become a true retch, then started to crawl over to the child. 

“It’s alright young one, it’s alright.” He murmured, and the child shifted more in the blankets, allowing them to fall further aside to reveal that they were dressed finely enough in a matching pale blue tunic and trousers. As they disturbed the blankets, Obi-Wan became aware of the smell rising from them, and took note of the dark-soddenness of the child’s trousers. Poor thing had wet themselves. It wasn’t ideal that they’d done it among their only blankets, but he couldn’t blame a child that young, in such a frightening situation, for not having perfect bladder control. In all honesty, they probably couldn’t even have climbed up onto the toilet without assistance anyway. For the first time since he woke, he felt true rage. Who just put a young kid in a cell all on their own like this? 

The little one sniffled sadly, but didn’t fight as Obi-Wan hoisted them out of the nest of blankets and into his lap, resting his back against the wall with some relief. They were relaxed in his arms as he ran a cursory check for injuries; other than the discomfort of the wet trousers, they seemed to be completely unharmed. He smoothed a gentle hand through the child’s hair and found it soft and well cared for. They likely hadn’t been here long; and certainly the only evidence of nature’s various calls was the urine soaked into everything. 

“What’s your name, young one?” They blinked those big, brown eyes up at him and he felt a sinking worry that they weren’t even old enough to be speaking. While he enjoyed taking rotations in the creche, and was encouraged to do so to settle his instincts when they bled through, he wasn’t entirely clear about stages of development. The child looked to be baseline human, and seeing them in their entirety, he realised they might be even younger than he thought, perhaps just eighteen month cycles. They should have some basic words by that age but there were any number of developmental reasons that they wouldn’t be talking. And that’s if they were both human and the age he thought. 

Just as he was about to worry himself into a bit of a spiral, the child spoke up. “Vaii’s ner buir?” 

Well, kark. The child was Mandalorian. Obi-Wan couldn’t help the instinctive flinch at the use of Mando’a. Relations were better between the Jedi Order and the Mandalorians than they had been for centuries, but that didn’t mean they were good. 

He took a breath and sent a silent thanks to the Force that one of the missions he and his Master had undertaken during his Padawanship had been to ratify the treaty with the current Mandalorian government led by Mand’alor Jaster Mereel, called Mand’alor the Reformer for the work he’d done modernising the Mandalorian creed with his Supercommando Codex and bringing more of the clans together than had been seen since the rule of Tarre Vizsla. 

“Su’cuy gar, ad’ika.” The Mando’a felt rusty on his tongue, but by the way the child lit up, he hadn’t butchered anything too badly. 

“Gar’re Mando’ad?” they asked, twisting in Obi-Wan’s arms so that they could stand up, little bare toes digging into his thighs. He steadied them with a hand on their back and smiled at their enthusiasm. 

"No.” He responded in Mando’a. “But I am a friend. My name is Obi-Wan. What’s your name?” 

“Boba.” 

“Well, Boba, do you want to get out of those wet things? You can’t be very comfy.” Once he got a serious little nod, Obi-Wan set about removing Boba’s stained trousers. He did his best to wipe down the boy’s legs with the dryer patches - the little one’s anatomy suggested that he was a boy at least - and then discarded the item to the other corner of the cell. This left Boba unfortunately half dressed though, so Obi-Wan shrugged out of his tabards to yank his under-tunic up over his head. Boba swam in it, once it had been eased down over his tiny frame, but at least it would keep him a little warmer. Obi-Wan had left the boy’s own tunic underneath as well, hoping the layers would get them through the cold night until the blankets had dried enough to use. There was nothing to be done about the smell, but he’d been in far worse conditions. 

He slipped his arms back into his tabards, tucking them as closely around himself as he could without his belt to make up for the bare bit of his chest that now peaked through. That done, he spread the smelly blankets out on the ground, knowing that they’d dry faster like that than screwed up into a ball. Boba watched him attentively, a thumb tucked up into his mouth. 

“What’s your clan name, Boba?” Obi-Wan asked, gathering the little boy back into his lap. Mandalorians were notoriously protective of children, so he had no doubt that their buir would be looking for them. With any luck they wouldn’t kill the Jedi sharing their child’s cell on sight when they arrived and Obi-Wan would be able to barter a ride out of there. Boba blinked at him for a moment, then gave a little shrug. Well, he supposed it was a bit much to ask a baby to understand their place in the structure of clans and houses that made up Mandalorian culture. Whoever they belonged to, they would be coming. Of that he was sure. 

***

He and Boba had been sitting for perhaps an hour cycle when there was a noise outside their cell door. Obi-Wan managed to stagger halfway to his feet, ready to stand between the boy and whoever was out there, but the door never opened. Instead two plasti-wrapped ration bars and hydration pouches were shoved through the slot, bouncing a little when they hit the floor. 

Obi-Wan waited a moment to see if there was anything else; any taunts, indications of one or both of them being dragged out for questioning or torture. There was nothing, just retreating footsteps and the sparse offering now scattered across their cell. 

Once he was sure that they’d gone, he leant forward to drag the items closer to himself and Boba. He tore the straw for one of the hydration pouches out of its wrapping and stabbed it into the plasti. He took a cautious sip and rolled the liquid around his mouth. An electrolyte mix of some kind, tasting faintly of meiloorun. Without the force he couldn't be absolutely sure that it wasn’t tampered with, but he didn’t think anything tasted amiss. Not that they had much choice. When he handed the opened pouch to Boba, he seemed to have no qualms about tucking the straw into his mouth and slurping its contents down. Briefly, Obi-Wan considered telling him to slow down so that they could conserve their supplies, not knowing how often they would be provided, but Boba was a child, and clearly thirsty. Obi-Wan couldn’t bring himself to take the pouch back. 

He opened the second and took a much more conservative drink for himself. Next, he moved onto the crinkly wrappers of the ration bars. Again, they looked un-tampered with. Just your standard nutritionally complete bar of texturelessness that would just turn to flavourless mush in your mouth. Goodie. Ripping the packet, he took Boba’s now empty hydration pouch and handed him the bar instead. It wasn’t until he was picking up his own that he noticed that Boba was just holding the thing and making no move to eat. 

Oh kriffing hells, was the kid even on solid food yet? Obi-wan scolded himself for that thought. The boy must be, he was fairly certain that started to happen at around six month-cycles in humans. Perhaps he’d never had a ration bar before? 

“It’s food, Boba.” He explained, and brought his own bar to his mouth to take a large bite. It was as unpleasant as he expected it to be. Slowly, the boy mimicked Obi-Wan, bringing it up to take a very cautious bite with his tiny teeth. As soon as the stuff touched his tongue however, he spat it out, and thrust the rest of the bar against Obi-Wan’s chest. 

“Nayc!”

“Oh, darling, I know. It’s disgusting.” Obi-Wan murmured in basic. In Mando’a he said, “you need to eat, little one.” He broke a piece off his own bar and held it up to Boba’s mouth. The boy stubbornly turned his head away, lips pressed into a thin line. Another attempt led to Boba smacking the piece clean out of his grasp with a furious little fist. 

“Boba, please. You must eat it.” Obi-Wan tried, but the boy just hid his face away in his tabards and refused to try again. Wolfing down the remainder of his bar, Obi-Wan spread the wrapper out on the ground beside them. He placed a bit of Boba’s bar down on it and then dribbled a little of the electrolyte mix from his half-full pouch onto it. He felt a little bad using his finger to grind it into a paste, given that his hands weren’t necessarily clean, but it wasn’t like they had utensils. Scooping some of the mush up onto his fingers, he levered Boba’s face out of his clothing and offered it up to him, doing his best to smear it into his mouth. There was a small struggle, but he did get some between the boy’s lips. His hopes that the electrolyte mix might help the flavour were quickly dashed when Boba turned his head to spit it out on the floor. 

It was at this point that the little boy began to cry. They were great hiccuping sobs that made Obi-Wan’s heart ache in his chest. 

“Kriff.” he muttered, gathering Boba back against his chest and rocking him. He made senseless shushing sounds, desperately trying to soothe him. Partly he wanted to comfort the child, and partly he couldn’t afford for their captors to take issue with the noise and come to quiet him themselves. Eventually, Boba did quiet down and Obi-Wan was able to get him to drink the remaining electrolyte pouch, even though it left them with no spare fluids. He carefully re-wrapped Boba’s ration bar in the hope that he might be more inclined to eat it once he was hungrier. 

***

He was woken by Boba’s whimpers. Soon after the ration bar debacle, Boba’s eyelids had started to droop, so Obi-Wan had gathered him close for warmth and settled them down on a dry corner of blanket to rest. Sleep had come surprisingly quickly, but Obi-Wan supposed he was still concussed and recovering from his beating. He was dragged into the waking world suddenly by the small noises the boy was making against his chest. He thought at first that he was having a nightmare, but when he leant down to peer into his face, he found that Boba’s eyes were open and glittering with tears. There were salty tracks down his cheeks and the neck of Obi-Wan’s tunic was wet. He’d clearly been crying for a while and Obi-Wan spared a moment of regret for the lost water. 

“Udesiir.” He murmured, “udesiir, ad’ika.” Boba sniffled and wiped a trail of snot along Obi-Wan’s tabard with his tiny nose. 

“M’hungry.” He complained, his voice wavering with the threat of further sobs. As if on cue, there was a rumble from the boy’s stomach. 

Obi-Wan sat up enough to retrieve the re-wrapped ration bar from earlier and broke off another corner. Boba eyed it with suspicion in his wet eyes, but he did take it from Obi-Wan’s fingers, bringing it up to pop into his mouth. Relief shot through Obi-Wan as the boy didn’t immediately spit it out, and just sat making disgusted faces while he chewed. He managed to feed Boba three more pieces of the bar like this before the boy turned his face away again, steadfastly refusing to take anymore. All in all, he’d eaten less than a third of a bar. Obi-Wan thought that a child of his size probably didn’t need to eat the whole thing, but he certainly needed to eat more than that if he wasn’t going to start losing weight fast. 

He let Boba settle back against him to sleep, but unconsciousness wasn’t quick to come for himself, too worried about keeping the boy safe. 

***

Obi-Wan was woken again sometime later by the scuff of footsteps outside the door and another bundle of hydration pouches and ration bars being shoved through onto the floor. He took that to mean it was now morning. Patting a hand on the blankets spread around him and Boba, he found them mostly dry, so he carefully wrapped the sleeping child up and tucked him further into their little corner. His head seemed clearer after his sleep and he found he was able to stand with only a little nausea to contend with. He took the opportunity of being upright to relieve himself in the toilet, which he was extremely pleased to find had a flush function that worked, and then gathered up the empty wrappers from last night’s meal to post back through the hatch so that they weren’t cluttering the cell. He ate the last bits of Boba’s bar himself now that they had fresh ones and he could be reasonably sure they would be delivered regularly. 

Now that Obi-Wan was able to stand up without the urge to expel everything from his stomach, he took to examining the cell in more detail. He ran his hands over every inch of the walls and ceiling, searching for a weakness; major cracks or vents or anything like that. Anything that he could exploit. There was nothing. Just four duracrete walls, a duracrete floor and ceiling and that durasteel door. For something so primitive, it was remarkably effective. He was examining the single light fitting, trying to work out if yanking on the wiring might be enough to pull part of the ceiling down when Boba began to stir. 

There was a rustle amongst the blankets, and just as it had yesterday, that little head of curls emerged, cowlicks pointing every which way. “Obi?” 

“I’m here, little one.” Gathering the new supplies into his arms, he rushed over to settle onto his knees beside the boy, who immediately crawled up into his lap, small hands clutching at his tabards to steady himself. “Are you hungry?” He asked, setting about stabbing the straw into a hydration pouch. 

“Tummy hurts.” The boy whimpered, but greedily took the pouch from Obi-Wan once it was ready, and started to slurp from it quickly. 

“I know, Boba, it’s just because you need to eat something solid, okay?” He tore open the first ration bar and took a bite, keeping a neutral face as he chewed, hopeful that Boba would be more open to the tasteless mush if he saw Obi-Wan eating it. Once the child was done with the hydration pouch, he tore off a piece of the bar and held it up to Boba’s mouth. As yesterday, he turned away, lips clamped shut. Obi-Wan couldn’t help the sigh. “Please Boba, you need to eat something.” 

“Don’t want!” Obi-Wan winced at the volume that Boba shrieked his displeasure, pulling him closer to his chest with a shush. 

“I know it isn’t nice, but please little one, it’s all we’ll get.” He tried once more to press the food to the boy’s mouth, but was rebuffed as Boba began to cry again. He rocked him, but Obi-Wan could feel the child’s upset and his own frustration starting to affect him, and tears sprang up in his own eyes. “Please,” he murmured, “please.” 

He had no more luck getting Boba to eat the rations than he had the day before, even trying again to make an electrolyte paste. In the end, he was defeated and just gave Boba both electrolyte pouches. This wasn’t at all sustainable, though, he needed fluids and vitamins that weren’t present in the ration bars for himself, and Boba needed calories and vitamins that weren’t present in the electrolyte pouches. He would have to come up with another solution. Perhaps if he explained to their captors that Boba was too young for ration bars; if they weren’t baseline human themselves, they may not understand human development. 

After first-meal, if that’s what that meal had been, Obi-Wan shoved the wrappers back through the hatch and then helped Boba sit up on the toilet. He was pleased the boy seemed to know what to do, so had been taught, and put the earlier accident down to either fear or not knowing what else to do when the toilet was too tall for him. Once those biological needs were taken care of, he encouraged Boba to totter around the room a bit, knowing it couldn’t be good for his muscle growth to just stay curled up on the ground. There was no knowing how long they'd be here before Boba’s buir arrived and he was determined to keep the child healthy. He held out little hope for any ransom demand of the Jedi Order being answered quickly, as the whole thing would need to be debated in the Senate, and Obi-Wan’s life weighed against the Order’s paltry budget. 

The boy was quite quick on his feet, even in the small space, obviously used to rushing about. He cackled with delight when Obi-Wan jogged with him, feinting grabbing him while he toddled away. He seemed like a happy, healthy child, loved and cared for. He wondered again how he ended up here. A ransom as well? Was his buir someone important or very wealthy? 

Once Boba tired of that game, Obi-Wan settled back down and pulled the child onto his lap and attempted to recreate for him some of the stories he told in the creche. It was tricky, working in  a language that he wasn’t really fluent in, but Boba seemed to eat them up, brown eyes wide and rapt with interest. 

***

It seemed like many hours passed before Obi-Wan heard footsteps approaching the door once more, so he assumed that they were only being fed twice a day; first-meal and late-meal. Taking a deep breath, he eased a sleeping Boba off of his lap, and clambered to his feet. He stepped up close to the door and ducked his head a little, hoping to see what was on the other side of the hatch. It was dark, but he could make out a shape moving closer and closer until suddenly the usual bundle of pouches and bars tumbled through the slot. Immediately, the shape started to step away and Obi-Wan jerked forward. 

“Ah, please a moment?” he called and to his relief, the shape paused. “I wanted to thank you for these offerings; very kind indeed. But the child is too young, he can’t eat the ration bars. Please will you bring something else for him? You can get very inexpensive baby foods, pureed vegetables, that kind of thing.” The shape still didn’t move and Obi-Wan cleared his throat nervously, and decided to try a different tract. “I assume you want him in good condition to be returned to his family once the ransom has been paid?” At last movement on the other side of the door, but it was just the shape moving away, no acknowledgement of what Obi-Wan had said. “Well.” He murmured to himself, crossly.  All he could do now was wait and see. 

Attempts to get Boba to eat the ration bars were as unsuccessful as before and by the end Obi-Wan had a decent amount of ration-electrolyte paste smeared into his tabards and they were both crying. He cursed the tears on his face; he definitely didn’t have the water to spare for this. He allowed himself just two swallows from a hydration pouch to sooth his dry throat before handing both over to the child. When they settled back down, he found himself sending a prayer to the Force that he would be able to feed the child soon. Boba’s whimpers of hunger were cutting right through him, making his chest feel tight and worried. After a moment of consideration he sent a prayer to the Manda as well, the collective soul of the Mandalorians, hoping that if the Force was not looking over this child, then at least the Manda would be. 

***

Boba cried all night as his empty stomach gurgled and cramped. Obi-Wan cried with him intermittently, distress, frustration and his own tiredness making him emotional. He was also aware that having a child to care for had brought his omegan instincts to the surface and the urge to protect was near-overwhelming. 

When footsteps sounded outside the door he scrambled to his feet, hoping, praying that they would have brought something different. The usual bars and hydration pouches hit the floor with a few muffled thumps.

“No, no, no, please!” Obi-Wan called, lunging for the door, getting a hand and wrist through the hatch before it became too narrow for his forearm. “Please the child is starving, I beg you!” The shape moved off down the corridor, seeming uncaring of Obi-Wan’s calls. He yanked his hand out of the slot and slid down the door, pressing his forehead into the cold durasteel as he felt more tears welling up in his eyes. Boba sniffled somewhere behind him. 

Taking a few deep breaths, he dragged himself back up to standing, swiping angrily at the moisture threatening to fall from his eyes. This time he made only one attempt to get Boba to eat the ration bar, before admitting defeat and just giving him both hydration pouches, not even taking a sip for himself. After, he cradled Boba close to his chest as one would a new babe and rocked him. He’d finally stopped crying, but was too quiet and despondent. Obi-Wan was worried. How long had he gone without food now? Two days? More? He hadn’t thought Boba had been here longer than him but he couldn’t be sure. 

Force, but he couldn’t do this again. Couldn’t watch children starve. Not after Melida/Daan. 

He’d been just thirteen when he’d spent time on that war-torn world, but he and the other Young, a faction made up of children who were trying to show their parents a more peaceful way, had seen this problem then; babies with mouths and stomachs too young to take the ration bars. And that was when they could even get the bars; they had often gone days without anything. 

Boba snuffled closer against him in his sleep, his small hand grasping at Obi-Wan’s tabards until they pulled aside. Without his undertunic, still sitting loosely on Boba’s own frame, this revealed enough of his chest that one nipple was exposed to the chill of the air. He shuddered and reached over, intending to pull the fabric back, but froze, staring down at his own chest as the nipple became pink and stiff in the cold. 

He’d been too young himself on Melida/Daan, too young to have presented yet, but some of the older children, like Cerasi, had already gone through enough of puberty to have emerged omega. The planet had been at war long enough that resources weren't wasted on frivolous things like suppressants and it hadn’t taken much time being surrounded by hungry babes for their bodies to respond. They had started producing stress induced prolactin, and then their milk had come in and they’d been able to feed at least a few hungry mouths. They’d been able to feed hungry mouths. 

Struggling upright, Obi-Wan laid Boba into the nest of blankets as gently as he could. Kriff, could he do this? Yes. Yes, he would do this for Boba. He just needed something sharp.

He briefly contemplated his own teeth or fingernails but quickly dismissed them as too messy, too uncontrolled; he couldn’t risk nicking anything vital. Their captors didn’t check on them enough, if he bled out, nobody would look after Boba and who’s to say how long the child would be trapped in here with a corpse. Obi-Wan swallowed excess saliva and nausea at the thought. He cast about quickly for the wrappers left from late-meal, which he hadn't yet gotten around to chucking through the hatch. He gave a quiet exclamation of victory when he found his prize.

The straw from a hydration pouch. 

He shuffled a little further away from Boba, not wanting to risk bleeding on him, and then rucked up his loose sleeve. He worked his fingers gently around his bicep until he found the little bump; his suppressant implant. 

Taking a deep breath, he set the sharper end of the plasti straw to his skin, thanking the Force that it was the inflexible sort, and would not bend too easily under the pressure it would take to pierce his skin. He gritted his teeth, and began to push. At first it wasn’t much of anything, just pressure against his arm, and he worried that it wouldn’t be sharp enough, that he’d have to resort to teeth after all, and then the feeling suddenly became more; became painful. He didn’t let up, tucking the straw more securely in his palm to keep all the pressure at the tip, rather than letting it bend, and he gasped aloud when it finally slipped through his skin. Force, it hurt. He knew he’d endured more pain than this in his life, but perhaps it was easier when someone else was doing it to you, when you weren’t having to control the gruesome slide through your own muscle. He felt wet stickiness over his fingers and looked down at his arm, watching the blood as it slicked down from the uneven cut, looking very dark under the electric light. 

Hoping that was deep enough, he pulled the straw back. He couldn’t help but give a small cry  when he tucked his index finger into the wound, using his nail to gently fish around for the tiny chip. He whimpered as his fingertip brushed against the muscle and viscera of his arm, appalled by how unnatural it was to feel that beneath his touch. After a few moments of slowly rooting around inside his arm, biting his whimpers of pain back between his teeth, he felt something smooth and non-organic beneath his fingertip. Hooking his fingernail around its flat, disk shape, he slowly drew it out of himself. 

He gasped with relief when he finally flicked it free of the wound, and pressed his palm hard against the hole, hoping to stem the bleeding. It wasn’t so bad, all things considered, the straw had allowed him to keep the cut small, and he’d done it. His implant was out, and he knew his body would work quickly to re-establish its natural hormones. Force, if Boba’s distress registered intensely enough he may even be able to feed him tomorrow. 

Tearing a strip out of his sleeve, not wanting to risk the blankets, he wrapped the wound tightly and then put his clothes as back to rights as possible, hopeful that their captors would keep up the current indifference. If they were to become aware that he was omega, now unsuppressed, they might decide to find a more lucrative use for him than ransom. 

He gently dragged the sleeping Boba back into his arms, and settled down himself, trying to ignore how his arm throbbed. Sleep claimed him quickly, the leftover adrenaline from his self-surgery making him shaky and tired. 

***

First-meal was the same as always the next day. Obi-Wan ate both the ration bars and hoped that the extra calories would mean he’d produce good milk for Boba. He set them both about what had become their little routine; toilet, followed by exercise, followed by story-time. He wished fiercely that they had a way of cleaning themselves, as he was aware that they both stank terribly; a combination of unwashed body and the urine-anointed blankets they slept in. 

Boba had become almost completely non-verbal, slow and sluggish. Unwilling to play and run as he had just a day ago and Obi-Wan felt real fear. His cheeks seemed sunken already. Such a small thing wouldn’t have reserves to draw on the way an adult does. 

It was somewhere around midday, Obi-Wan thought, just after story-time with Boba nuzzled up close to his chest fast asleep, that he felt it. It was mild at first, and he wriggled, uncomfortable, but not really sure why. It was when the sensation became more intense that he sat upright with a gasp; his chest was tingling, an almost prickling soreness that felt muscle deep. He quickly rucked his tabards aside and found that his chest was actually starting to look different. There was a slight swell, an expansion of mammary fat that he hadn’t had before. He touched two fingers gently to his budding breasts, massaging them, encouraging the glands to produce. He wasn’t there yet, he thought, but soon perhaps. Soon Boba could feed. He almost sobbed in relief, cupping his whole hand around one breast. “Oh, thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Force. Manda. Thank you.” 

***

Late-meal arrived without Boba stirring at all. Obi-Wan pressed a hand to his cheek and thought he felt warm, but the breath against his wrist was steady. He stood and gathered their supplies, deciding to take a risk. He ate everything himself without waking Boba. Both ration bars, both hydration pouches. Guilt stabbed at him with every mouthful. What if he was wrong? What if his milk didn’t come in? He’d have deprived Boba of any nutrition, any fluids at all. 

He gathered the boy into his arms and settled on his back, Boba laid out warm across his chest. Sleep came to him quickly, his body tired and a little sore as his hormones reset. 

***

Obi-Wan was woken by pain. An unfamiliar sort of pain that made him gasp. He sat up, drawing Boba with him, still clutched securely to his chest. Quickly he pushed his tabards aside and gave a sharp sound of relief and overwhelm when he saw how much more his breasts had swollen. His nipples stood out stiffly from the mounds, looking larger than they usually did. Reaching up, he carefully pinched around the areola, remembering from watching Cerasi do this that a babe needed to apply pressure to more of the breast than just the nipple to get a good feed, and started to cry a little in relief as thin grey-ish droplets welled up on the engorged tip of his nipple. 

“Boba,” he murmured, shaking the little boy, “wake up.” Boba grumbled, trying to bury his head deeper into Obi-Wan’s clothes. He shook him harder, gently scooping his head into one palm to pull him away. Those big eyes blinked sleepily at him, looking hazy and confused. 

“I have food, Boba.” He told him, and gathered the budding milk onto his fingers, smearing them gently across the boy’s lips. His little tongue came out to taste, then followed Obi-Wan’s fingers. He gathered more, and this time let Boba suck the digits into his mouth. The child seemed satisfied with the flavour, and his tongue worked greedily for more, so Obi-Wan withdrew, and gently guided Boba’s head down to his breast, tickling his lips against one nipple. Boba was too old for the true rooting instinct, but he seemed to understand well enough and his little mouth opened wide to latch around Obi-Wan’s nipple, immediately beginning to suck. 

Obi-Wan winced at both the new sensation and the glance of Boba’s teeth, understanding why babes were normally weaned once they got teeth. He felt a little weird about nursing the child directly, given both his age and their lack of familial connection, but without anything to decant into, he didn’t have a lot of choice. 

Boba reached a hand up to pat at Obi-Wan's neck, dragging him from his thoughts, and he glanced down at the suckling child. Boba’s eyes were open, and brighter than they’d been for days as he gazed up at Obi-Wan, who raised a hand to grasp the child’s palm in his own. Boba’s eyes fluttered shut in contentment, and Obi-Wan became overwhelmed with the feelings welling up inside him. His own contentment, and a feeling of rightness, at having a babe on his breast, the relief at seeing the boy eating and the sudden surge of protectiveness and love. 

He knew then that he would struggle to be separated from the child, that the act he was performing now, the connection and intimacy of it, wasn’t something to be taken lightly. He knew that he was attached, that this was why the Jedi mandated suppressant implants, because without them, alpha and omega instincts could not be reined in to work within the Code. 

You didn’t have a choice, he told himself, better this, than anything happening to the child. 

When Boba had drained the first breast, supply relatively low since Obi-Wan’s milk had only just come in, he switched him gently to the other, smiling down at the way his little cheeks were plumped out with his suckling. Leaning his head back against the wall, he sighed in contentment and let sleep take him over once more.

***

Things settled into a routine very quickly. When their meals were brought, Obi-Wan would eat both ration bars and most of the hydration pouches, giving Boba little sips in between his own to keep him content and to prevent his throat from getting dry and sore. Then they’d settle in to feed Boba, tucked up tight against Obi-Wan's breast, mouthing greedily around the nipple and nursing until there was nothing more to be had. Obi-Wan’s production increased quickly and Boba lost that sallow look to his cheeks, having more energy than even when they’d first got there. He liked to run around the cell shrieking and giggling while Obi-Wan pretended to try to catch him, play wrestling when he did. It had become clear that their captors didn’t care what they did or how much noise they made, so Obi-Wan had stopped trying to hush the boy and just let him run and play and be a child. 

After playtime was storytime, which also usually included another feed. The situation had likely put Obi-Wan’s hormones into overdrive, so he was producing a lot, and quickly, now. He needed Boba to feed three or four times a day or he started to get sore with how full his breasts were. 

His breasts themselves had grown a lot to accommodate the milk production, and stood up from his chest in pronounced mounds. They weren’t so large that they’d begun to sag particularly, largely because of the strength of his pectoral muscles from combat training, but it would be clear without his layers of Jedi tunics and tabards that he wasn’t as flat as a male beta ought to be. He hoped that once he was out of this situation and had a new implant that they would go back to the way they were, otherwise it might make it difficult for him to go on missions. With all of the alphas and omegas in the Order suppressed it made sense for the galaxy at large to believe that they were all betas, and it wouldn’t do to disabuse them of that notion. 

After a story and a feed, Boba would settle for a milk-sleepy nap, and Obi-Wan would sit alone with his thoughts for a few hours. At first he tried to map out escape plans, but he had long exhausted every option. The walls were impenetrable, their captors never opened the door so he couldn’t jump them, and he’d chafed his wrist bloody trying to remove the Force cuff. Once he realised escape was hopeless, he began to fantasise about their rescue instead. Sometimes, he imagined Boba’s buir coming for them; cutting a frightening figure in their armour. Would they remove their helmet for Boba to see them? Would Obi-Wan get to see them? How would they react to him being a Jedi, and how would they react to him breastfeeding their son? 

His imagination here could turn dark, and he would spend time going over everything he knew about fighting Mandalorians, just in case. 

When he was feeling particularly fanciful he imagined that the Mandalorian would be grateful and would sweep Obi-Wan into a hug along with Boba, and clasp them both close, as if they were a family. Boba had only ever mentioned one buir, so Obi-Wan assumed he had just the one parent. Perhaps his buir was an alpha, and perhaps upon finding a young omega suckling their child they would want-

Obi-Wan cut such thoughts off at the root. He knew that these desires were just a side effect of the removal of his implant, his omega instincts rising to the surface, and further confused by having a babe to care for. It was natural that his thoughts would turn to the need for an alpha to protect him and his child. 

The child. Not his child. 

In his quietest, most secret daydream, Boba’s buir never arrived - whether they were dead or didn’t care to look for him, it didn’t matter - and when the Order came to get him he’d take Boba home with him. In this daydream he would be allowed to keep the boy in the temple with him, even though he almost certainly wasn’t force sensitive. Obi-Wan could raise him, teach him, his own son. 

He knew this was a problem. The longer they were trapped here, the longer he fed the child from his own breast, the harder it was going to be to separate. He worried about the same for Boba, worried about the attachment forming between them, that it would hurt Boba to be taken from the omega who nursed him. 

It was a fine mess, that was for sure. 

***

Obi-Wan’s arm was infected. He’d done his best to keep the small wound clean, truly he had, but they had no access to clean water in the cell, or medical supplies and he and Boba were both so dirty. The edges of the cut were raised and puffy, red in a way that couldn't be natural, and if he prodded at it a yellowish fluid would leak forth. 

He was also aware that feeding Boba was putting a lot of strain on his body; four ration bars a day not enough to make up for the boy’s ravenous appetite. Where Boba’s cheeks were getting plump and rosy, even under the dirt, Obi-Wan could feel himself getting thinner. When he pulled aside his tabards to let Boba drink, he could see how prominent his own ribs were, pressing against his skin. 

A low grade fever had set in from the infection, making him more and more confused. He knew he was holding Boba a lot; more than the boy really wanted. Keeping him close and pressing desperate kisses into his hair. 

He couldn’t let his baby be far from him, he couldn’t. 

***

Another late-meal, another pair of ration bars and hydration pouches. Boba was eager to feed tonight, little hands pushing aside Obi-Wan’s tabards, rooting for a breast, even before Obi-Wan had finished eating his own meal. 

“In a moment, Boba.” He murmured, running a soothing hand over the boy’s curls, but he was not to be deterred. 

“Hungry, Obi. ” Boba told him sternly, before taking one of Obi-Wan’s much-enlarged breasts into his mouth. Obi-Wan sighed, but allowed the boy, simply settling him more comfortably against himself and doing his best not to drop crumbs into his hair as he finished his ration bars. As he gazed down at Boba’s closed eyes, his lips parted sweetly around Obi-Wan’s flesh, he felt a deep rush of gratitude that he had a child, that they were safe, tucked up to his breast. He cuddled his babe closer, though Boba protested being disturbed from his suckling, settling back into it with a grumble. 

“You’re mine, aren’t you little one?” He whispered to the boy. Boba ignored him, as he always did when he spoke basic. “My milk has made you strong. My body has nourished yours. That makes you mine.” 

***

They’d all but stopped playing, Obi-Wan not liking Boba to be out of his arms for a moment. Story-time, as well, had fallen to the wayside, Obi-Wan too confused and wrapped up in his instincts to conjure anything from his mind. When he drank the hydration pouches that arrived for him, his throat always seemed very dry and strange, and he wondered when he’d last spoken aloud to Boba. 

Boba spoke to him, he knew that. Babbling in Mando’a that became harder and harder for Obi-Wan to translate as the fever progressed, so he just settled for responding to Boba with omegan soothing sounds, purrs and chirps and shushes. 

***

It had been hard to track time, but Obi-Wan thought, judging by the number of food drop-offs, that he and Boba had been confined for around five weeks when there was a change in the routine. The rations came with enough regularity that Obi-Wan’s internal body clock knew when to expect them, even through his fever and confusion, which meant he knew straight away when one was late. 

Boba did not seem aware that anything was amiss, and slept on where he was clutched to Obi-Wan’s chest. Hiking the boy higher into his arms, he staggered to the very back of the cell, putting his back carefully to a corner. He felt very warm, like there was a fire under his skin, and his vision had gone a little hazy, but he knew what he had to do. Knew that he had to protect his child.  

He heard it then; the distant sounds of battle. Blaster fire and shouting and pained cries. He tucked Boba’s little face into his neck, hoping to muffle them. 

They grew nearer, and Obi-Wan could make out the thump-clank of armoured bodies moving at pace. Mandalorians, then. Some clarity crept in at the edge of his mind even as fear and adrenaline shot through his body, making him dizzy; he knew somehow that this was what he’d been waiting for. Boba’s buir. 

Except…

There were still remnants of the civil war, some dissatisfied factions who opposed the Mand’alor. Could he trust that whoever came through that door was the right Mandalorian? He clutched Boba closer, and the boy protested a little in his sleep at the tight grip, but Obi-Wan’s omegan instincts were kicking into overdrive now, all caught up with and warped by the fever burning through him. There was a babe in his arms, and he could feel that they were frightened, even in sleep, and there was a heaviness in his chest that said the babe was his and all he knew was that he had to protect. 

The footsteps were close, right outside, and he could make out shapes through the slot in the door, blocking out what little light came from the corridor outside. 

There was jarring, grinding metal on metal as the Mandalorians sliced through the hinges on the door, and Obi-Wan found himself dropping into a half crouch, Boba pressed tight in his arms, ready to defend. 

When the first Mandalorian stepped through the door, he didn’t hesitate, he simply lunged.

Chapter Text

Five week-cycles. Five week-cycles since those hut’uunla demagolkase had taken his ad. Jango Fett tapped an impatient rhythm against his bes’marbur, where his arms were crossed over his chest. It had taken too long to reach the pirates, far too long, and he was deeply afraid of what might have been done to Boba in that time. All for something as grubby and small-time as a ransom demand. He would have transferred any amount of credits, but the shabuire wanted to be paid in beskar, so he’d had to drag his Ori’ramikade halfway across the galaxy to deliver it. 

Of course, that was the pirates' fatal mistake. It showed that they had no idea what they were doing or who they were dealing with. They should have known that if they demanded something that would bring him and his forces within even a parsec of them, that he would find them, and he would kill them. 

So, here he was, securing the control centre of their pathetic little hideout as the last of the pirates were executed around him; the chests of beskar all still safely tucked aboard his ship. 

Jango twitched, and fretted; furious with himself for showing such outward worry and weakness, but knowing that his verde understood. This was his ad. His internal comm crackled and he almost injured himself slamming the button on his kom’rk to accept the call. “Myles?” He barked at his second in command, the vod he trusted most to go and retrieve his boy from whatever hole they were keeping him in. 

“Alor, we’ve found him. He looks physically fine but…”

“But?” He knew he was being short with his oldest friend, but found little space to care. 

“Just- get down here. He’s fine, I swear. We just need your help.” Jango flipped his comm off, briskly. 

“Silas, you have command.” His verd acknowledged his barked order with a tip of his buy’ce and then Jango was striding from the control room, following the coordinates that pinged into his kom’rk from Myles. 

The descent into the lowest levels of the base seemed to take an eternity, the humming of the turbolift not enough to drown out the thoughts and worry swirling around in his head. This deep, the structure was dour and solid, all duracrete and durasteel and dank smelling. 

When he finally stepped onto the corridor that the coordinates had directed him to, he found Myles blocking his path. He gave a grunt of displeasure, but his friend didn’t move, instead reaching out with both hands to clasp his upper arms. “Don’t hurt him.”

“What?” He snapped, shaking him off, astonishment and irritation warring inside him. 

Myles shifted aside enough that Jango could see through the hole in the wall behind him, which led to a dark, boxy cell. The hole had clearly been created by the violent removal of a door, which lay discarded some feet away. Inside, four of his Ori’ramikade stood in a loose semi-circle just beyond the entryway. They were all still fully armoured, buy’cese on, but their weapons were lowered - still in grasp, still ready - but lowered. Beyond them, tucked up hard to the back wall, was a single, frightened humanoid. By Jango’s guess, male, young, perhaps early twenties, looking close enough to baseline human, and judging by the tunics hanging somewhat loosely from his lean frame, he was a karking Jetii. 

Jango observed all of this in less than a second, battle instincts honed to a fine edge, and discarded all but the most important which was that the Jetii was crouched low, a knife clutched in the blood-smeared knuckles of one hand. Held closely in his other arm, was Jango’s unconscious ad . His blood surged hotly, alpha instincts creating sparks across his skin with the need to protect, to fight, to rend the flesh of any that hurt his aliit. The only thing that restrained him was that Boba truly did appear unharmed, just as Myles had said; his face tucked sweetly into the man’s neck in a way that spoke of sleep, not unconsciousness through violence, his dirty curls an adorable mess. 

“He’s just protecting him, he doesn’t know who we are. Please don’t hurt him.” Jango’s attention drew back to Myles, who had removed his buy’ce to further entreat with him, eyes pleading. 

Jango had no love for the Jetiise, but they were supposedly at peace now, and Jaster would have his head if he killed one in cold blood, especially given- “He’s trying to protect my son against almost an entire squad of armoured Mando’ade. I’m not going to hurt him.” He told his friend gruffly. “Anyone injured?” 

“He managed to stab Kal. Got him right in the join by his shoulder, slid between the gaide.” Impressive, given the Jetii’s state, but he knew from experience that Jetiise were a foe to be reckoned with. 

“He okay?”

Myles shrugged. “He lost a bit of blood. Mij took him back to the ship. Mostly he’ll be embarrassed that the Jetii disarmed him so fast.” Jango nodded, relieved. 

“You think it was a lucky hit or does he know how to use that thing?” He eyed the blade in the Jetii’s hand over Myles’ shoulder, and now that he looked, yes, that was Kal’s blade. He’d only ever seen Jetiise fight with their jetii’kade, so had no real gauge for their competency with other weapons. 

“Oh, he knows how to use it. But he seems a little out of it, he’s been hard to reason with. We think he has a fever, though no one’s been able to get close enough to check.” 

Jango rolled his shoulders; that complicated things. “He injured?”

“Definitely. Barely slowing him down though.” 

“Okay.” Jango carefully stowed his westars into their holsters, and stepped around Myles toward the door. As he entered the room, the Ori’ramikade shifted subtly to allow him a clear path, without pausing their vigil. Jango made his way to the front of his verde, until he was directly in front of the man, and then, keeping his movements slow and telegraphed, eased down to his knees. The man was dirty and dishevelled, clearly poorly looked after, and his cheeks were gaunt with hunger. Myles was right, there was definitely fever in his eyes and his skin was flushed. He swayed a little in his crouch and Jango tensed every muscle in his body, ready to lunge forward and catch Boba if he fell. But the man steadied, and brought the knife in his hand a little higher, even as it shook. 

Keeping his movements slow, so as not to startle, Jango raised his hands to his buy’ce and removed it, clipping it carefully to his belt. He felt the shuffle of unease spread amongst his verde at the vulnerability, but he ignored them. 

“That’s my son.” He told the frightened man in basic, nodding his chin to where Boba still slept against his shoulder. “Thank you for looking after him for me.” The man continued to stare at him and didn’t react. 

“Do you speak basic?” Jango asked gently. If he didn’t, this was going to be much more difficult. 

Thankfully, the man’s chin tilted in the slightest nod. His hair fell in his eyes a little, and while it was hard to tell under the filth, Jango thought it had a reddish cast to it. 

“Jate. Good. If you wake him, he’ll recognise me. I promise.” 

He was watched intently, warily, for another moment, before the man used the side of his head to gently nudge Boba awake, his eyes never leaving Jango, and the hand clutching the knife never wavering. Boba let out a sleepy noise and nuzzled closer against the man’s neck. 

“Boba.” The Jetii said, and his voice was a rasp. Jango’s son finally lifted his head and blinked up at the man. When he didn't look back at him, Boba followed his gaze to Jango. 

“Buir!” He shouted and began to struggle out from under the arm holding him. The Jetii tightened his grasp for a moment, clearly warring with himself, but then released the squirming boy, who launched himself at Jango. Gathering his son up into his arms, Jango buried his nose into the unruly curls, and breathed in his reassuring scent, covered even as it was by filth and fear and something sweet that Jango couldn’t put his finger on. Boba began to sob against his chest and Jango shushed him, making soft alpha rumbles in his chest to soothe him. He glanced back up at the man, and found that he’d collapsed into the wall behind, allowing it to take his weight, clearly exhausted. He still hadn’t lowered the knife. 

“Who’s your friend, Boba?” Jango murmured in Mando’a to his still-sniffling son. Boba turned his head to look back at the man.

“Obi!” He exclaimed, excited, emotions turning on a credit chit in the way only an ad’s could. “He looked after me! And he played with me!”

Jango let a smile tilt the corners of his lips. “That sounds very nice of him.”

“He’s sick, Buir. He stopped playing and got all hot.” A progressive fever then; from an untreated injury perhaps? If he was sick, likely Boba would have been too. Obi’s eyes seemed to only be getting more clouded and Jango knew he needed medical attention now. 

“Myles.” He snapped and his second stepped forward, buy’ce back in place. He passed Boba up to him. “Get him back to the ship and Mij.”

Slowly, he rose from his knees. Obi flinched and scrambled to stand upright as well, knife ready. Jango held out a gloved hand and switched back to basic. “Give it to me please. We’re not going to hurt you. We just want to take you somewhere safe.” 

Obi bared his teeth. Jango sighed. He hadn’t really thought it would be that easy. He groped along his belt until he found his field medkit. Obi’s hazy eyes followed the movement. Taking that second of distraction, Jango leapt forward, his outstretched hand closing firmly around the grasp the Jetii had on the knife. The man made a noise of distress and tried to squirm away, but Jango had him backed up against the wall and his grip was unyielding; there was nowhere to go. 

Finally close enough to scent him, Jango was upset, but unsurprised, to breathe in the sweet-sour smell of distressed omega. He couldn't, however, detect the slick honeyed notes of omega-heat, so the fever was definitely unnatural. He needed to get him to Mij. He swung his other hand up and depressed the end of the hypo he’d concealed in his palm into the man’s neck with a hiss. 

Obi sobbed. “Please. Please, don’t.” Jango dropped the empty hypo to wrap an arm around the omega’s waist as the strength went out of his legs, the sedative working quickly though his overheated system. He blinked up at Jango, startling grey eyes wet with unshed tears. 

“Shh.” Jango murmured and made a soothing alpha noise, as he had his son, until those eyes didn’t reopen, and the man slipped into unconsciousness, finally releasing the knife to clatter to the ground.  

Hefting him quickly into his arms, Jango set out back to the ship, signalling his verde as he went. 

***

Boba was quickly given a clean bill of health back on The Legacy . “It’s remarkable, really.” Mij shook his head, reading over his son’s blood results, “I’d expect some malnutrition, especially given the state the Jetii’s in but he’s completely healthy. I’d even say he’s gained weight, actually.” Jango smoothed a hand over Boba’s tangled hair, resolving that a bath was next on the agenda. He was steadfastly trying to ignore the way the little boy smelled; body odour and something astringent like urea, overlayed with that same sweet odour that Jango couldn’t place.

“Well, you saw how the omega was with him. He probably gave Boba all the food they got, kept none for himself.” Myles suggested from his sprawl by the medbay door. Jango glanced at the privacy curtain beside them, the only thing hiding the unconscious form of the Jetii in the next bay over from his eyes. It was likely. More than likely. 

Mij drew his attention, clicking off the datapad. “Kid’s totally fine, alor. Okay if I look at the omega now?” Jango nodded, hefting Boba up into his arms. When the baar’ur drew back the curtain, he couldn’t help but let his eyes trail over the young man. He was pretty, even under the muck, even as thin as he was. When he’s healthy, he must be magnificent , Jango thought. 

“Kriff.” Mij said, and Jango frowned at him. “I think I know him. What did Boba say his name was?” 

Boba took being talked about rather than to as an offence, and carelessly swung a tiny fist that cracked Jango across the eye socket. “Obi! Is he okay?”

Jango winced, but rubbed a soothing hand down his ad’s back. “He’s going to be fine, Boba. I promise.” 

“Obi…” Mij murmured to himself. “Obi-Wan Kenobi.” 

“You’ve met him?” Jango asked in surprise. 

“Yes, years ago. He came to Manda’yaim when he was just a kid. His Jetii Baj’hib’ur was the one who drew up the treaty with Jaster.” Mij smiled a little. “He was sweet with the ade. Thought back then he might turn out omega.” 

“I thought you didn’t get omega Jetiise? Or alpha ones? Because they’re too mystical and one with the Force or some osik.” Myles stepped up next to Jango, who scoffed at him. 

“That’s an old superstition. Jetiise just suppress their instincts their whole lives so that they can serve their ‘code’ without distractions. Karking unnatural.” 

“Mm. Which begs the question,” Mij cut in, “why can we smell you, Obi-Wan Kenobi?” 

“Shabuire probably took his implant.” Myles said, turning away as his kom’rk beeped. He jammed his buy’ce back on his head, and stood a moment, making sharp, involuntary hand gestures as he carried out a conversation over his internal comms. Jango met Mij’s eyes, which rolled in exasperation. 

“One of us is needed on the bridge.” Myles finally turned back to say, vocoder clicking. “You taking Boba to get cleaned up?” At Jango’s nod, he made his goodbyes and went to deal with whatever latest disaster Jango’s verde had found. 

“You okay with him?” Jango asked, nodding toward the occupied bed. Mij scoffed and flapped a hand that loosely equated to ‘get the kriff out of my medbay’. Knowing better than to disobey a baar’ur, Jango went. 

***

Mij had been pretty impressed when the Jetii stabbed Skirata. Skirata could do with being stabbed every now and again, and to get it from someone who looked like a stiff breeze could have knocked them down? Yeah, Mij had enjoyed that. 

Then he’d gotten the young man into his medbay and discovered that not only was he an omega - which, didn’t that throw all his instincts into a tizzy, seeing an omega so starved and sickly as this one - but that Mij knew him. Obi-Wan Kenobi had been a sweet kid, probably only fifteen when he and his Baj’hib’ur came to Manda’yaim. Mij had treated him once when he’d dislocated his elbow sparring with Ori’ramikade ten years older than him and at least twice his size. Full of fire, this one. Full of Mandokar, too.  

Obi-Wan had grown into an attractive young man, and his omegan scent was gentle and unobtrusively floral, and if he was being honest, Mij was standing here studying him so that he could put off the exam; afraid of what he’d find. 

With a sigh, he finally took up his handheld scanner and ran it over the Jetii. He found bad chafing around his left wrist from the Force suppressant cuff - that would need to come off - and evidence of at least one recently broken rib that seemed to have healed up okay. He also had a recently broken nose, which was now maybe a little crooked, but otherwise not concerning. 

Most worrisome, was that there was some kind of cut on his upper arm which had not yet healed. There was, thank the Manda, no evidence of pregnancy or sexual assault. The only thing really of concern to Mij was the gauntness and the fever ravaging the young man; for which he suspected the wound on his bicep was the culprit. 

He rolled the Jetii’s sleeve back, loose enough that there was no real need to cut it, to see what he was dealing with. He hissed between his teeth at how badly infected the wound was, but with a clean and some broad-spectrum antibiotics, that’d be cleared up within the hour. The wound was… confusing, though. 

It was small, but jagged. Had he been stabbed? With what? And in such an odd place?

Mij nearly smacked himself in the face when he realised; the left bicep was the most common insertion site for an omegan suppressant implant. This was where they had taken it from. This was why he knew that Obi-Wan was an omega. But why take it… like that? The cut clearly wasn’t from a knife; what was the benefit of hacking into his arm like this? 

Mij took some bloods, jamming them into the side of a reader to process, and then settled down to clean out the wound. By the time he’d drained the yellowish fluids of infection, debrided the cut to ensure whatever foreign body had caused the infection was gone and slathered the whole thing in a generous layer of bacta, the pad had pinged with the results. He was relieved to see that it had thrown up no likely antibiotic allergies, and he quickly set up a drip of IV antibiotics to beat down the infection. 

Returning to the datapad, he noted that Obi-Wan was down quite a lot of vitamins, but that was to be expected with his malnutrition, and that he had high levels of oestrogen, which was normal for an omega coming off a suppressant. He had to glance over the final read-out twice; abnormally high levels of- prolactin? But he’d determined no signs of a recent pregnancy, no signs of the omega having ever had a pregnancy, in fact. So why-?

Mij shut his eyes tight. “Osik.” Gently, he tugged at the young man’s loose tabards, only needing to displace them a little before he caught a glimpse of what he was looking for; the swell of mammary tissue out of place on a male omega without ade. 

The omega had dug the implant out of his own arm. He’d dug the implant out of his own arm because he was trapped, alone, with a starving ad. Boba had come back to them shining with health, and Obi-Wan was gaunt and thin.

He’d been using his own body to nourish the ad.

This, yeah, this could be a problem.

***

Jango managed to have Boba washed and dried and bundled up in his favourite sleep-clothes before the excitement of the day caught up to the ik’aad and he started to drop off. He demanded milk before he’d settle, which Jango found a little odd since his boy had never had a taste for blue milk, but who was he to deny the ad anything right now. Boba sipped cautiously from his sip-cup for a bit, before putting it down, unimpressed, and going to sleep. 

Weird , Jango shrugged. 

He settled Boba down into the carry-bed he’d laid out on his own bunk, pressing a kiss into his hair and taking a moment to breathe in the scent of him and thank the Manda to have him back in his arms, before heading back to the medbay to see if the Jetii was awake yet. 

When he got there, Mij was nowhere in sight and the Jetii was sitting up on the side of the bed, studying his bare toes where they curled against the floor. He looked better, less fever-flushed, but he didn't look healthy. 

“Where’s Mij?” The Jetii actually startled at his voice, Jango once again speaking in basic, which seemed out of character for what he knew of Jetiise. 

“Oh, he went to get some food, I think.” The young man’s voice was still just a rasp, like he hadn’t used it in a while. 

“You know me?” Jango gruffed, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. 

Cautious eyes stay trained on him, just as startlingly pretty-grey now as they were full of tears back in the cell. “You’re Boba’s buir.” 

That made Jango smile. It might be the first time in his life that someone has known him as that first. As Boba’s buir before Ad’be’Mand’alor. He kind of liked it. “My name is Jango Fett. You are Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jetii.” 

“Yes, I-” the Jetii cut off, “Fett? You’re the Mand’alor’s son.” 

Jango’s smile shifted into more of a smirk. “I hear you’ve met my buir?” 

“Years ago. I admired him greatly.” 

Jango hummed. “The protection of children is a key tenet of our creed. You know this. You have shown yourself to be honourable in your care of my son.” 

The Jetii - the omega - flushed at this, and broke his eye contact with Jango. “I offered what I could.” He replied quietly. “I would not see a child starve, no matter their culture. Any in my position would have done the same.”

“You know that isn’t true,” Jango scoffed, “and few to the degree that you have; to the detriment of their own health. Boba is completely healthy, while you are much too thin. You didn’t need to give him so much. You could have kept more of the rations for yourself.” Obi-Wan’s head jerked back up to stare at him and he sighed. “I’m trying to say thank you, Jet’ika.” 

But the omega did not relax, and instead swallowed nervously. “Then you do not know.” 

As Jango pushed off the wall toward the omega, to offer comfort if he could, the young man suddenly whimpered, and in what seemed an involuntary reflex, clutched a hand to his chest. 

“Hey, hey, what is it?” Jango reached out to touch Obi-Wan’s shoulder, but the man flinched back from him so violently that one side of his dirty tabards displaced. Jango wasn’t sure what it was that made the realisation click into place, or if it was just the slow build of tiny puzzle pieces until he saw the full picture. If it was the sweet, unfamiliar scent clinging to Boba’s skin, his sudden desire for milk before bed, and dissatisfaction with what he was given; or if it was the omega’s words and apparent fear of Jango; the way he clutched at his chest in pain, or, finally; the gentle curve that had been revealed to him by the shifting clothing, unmistakable alongside everything else Jango knew. 

“You nursed him.” His reaction was visceral, and it showed in the quiet fury of his voice. The Jetii tried to scramble backwards over the bed, away from him, but Jango already had a hand caught up in his tabards, dragging him closer. Obi-Wan whimpered, and reached up to grasp helplessly at Jango’s steel grip, but the Force suppressant cuff was still around his wrist and he was weak from fever and injury and the sedatives Jango had given him. 

He tightened his fist to ensure the omega couldn’t squirm away, and that had the unintended consequence of parting the man’s tabards fully, uncovering him to Jango gaze. Any lingering doubt, any chance at denial was dashed at the sight of the pale mounds rising from his chest, tipped with pink nipples. Even Jango could see that they looked heavy, swollen with milk, the skin stretched in a way that must be uncomfortable - and now that he was close, yes, he could smell pain on the omega. 

Somewhere in the back of his head Jango acknowledged that the Jetii should have an extra layer, that he shouldn’t be able to bare the man this much, and that his son had been wearing a tunic that was much too large for him. But it wasn’t of enough consequence to push through the rage currently making his vision cloud red. 

“You nursed my child.” He repeated, using his grip to shake the omega, willing him to understand what he’d done. The attachment that would cause, between both him and Boba. Something so precious, so intimate, was for aliit not-

“Put him down.” 

Jango barely turned his head to growl at Mij, putting all of his alpha into the sound. The omega under his hands flinched at it, but Mij was unmoved.

 “Put him down, or I’ll have to make you, alor.” 

For a tense moment, they stood suspended, and Jango actually contemplated fighting Mij. But what would it achieve? Did he want to kill the omega? No, he was angry, very angry, because of what he’d done, but he’d still kept his son alive.

Jango loosened his grip, and stepped back. He heard Mij sigh in relief behind him, but Obi-Wan just looked even sadder. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Jango growled at the omega, who flinched again. He needed to stop doing that. It was starting to make Jango feel-

Well, not good about himself, that was for sure. 

“Tell me why.” He spat. 

Obi-Wan’s eyes cut briefly to Mij, who took that as his cue to step forward, insinuating himself in between Jango and the omega. He handed Obi-Wan a ration bar, which caused a wet little laugh. 

“This is all they would give us. Just ration bars and hydration pouches. I told them Boba couldn’t eat them, that he was too young, but they wouldn’t bring us anything else. I just- I didn’t know what else to do. Ni ceta.” 

The Mando’a wasn’t much of a surprise now that he knew that Obi-Wan was on Manda’yaim ten years ago. Jango closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. Of course Boba was too young to understand that a ration bar was actually food, foul as they were. Of course Boba was too young to understand that there was no choice. All he knew was that he didn’t like it, so he wouldn't eat it. 

It explained why Boba was so healthy and Obi-Wan so thin. Even if he ate the rations assigned to Boba as well, a nursing omega couldn't subsist on kriffing ration bars. Jango turned his head to look at Mij. “You’re putting his implant back in, right?” That should help diminish the connection. If Obi-Wan’s instincts were suppressed, if Boba could no longer smell the omega, they might get away with this. 

“That’s the plan,” Mij responded, “but it isn’t quite that simple. It isn’t advisable to put a suppressant implant into a nursing omega, so we need to wind down Ob’ika’s milk production first.” 

Jango tried not to flinch at the affectionate nickname. “How long?” He gritted out. 

“A few weeks. I’ll give him a hormone injection every day which should lessen and lessen production until it stops.” Mig shrugged, gently encouraging Obi-Wan to actually open and consume his ration bar, and then discreetly tucking his clothing back around him, hiding his breasts from view. 

“But in the meantime he’ll still be… producing. How do we cut off his instinct to nurse Boba?” 

Obi-Wan gave a little whimper under his breath at that, but straightened his spine. “I am stronger than those instincts. Without the fever and the situation making everything so confusing, I can resist. I swear I can.” 

Jango gave him one last long look. “You’d better. Stay away from my son.”

***

Obi-Wan had to confess to being somewhat frightened of Boba’s buir, but he supposed he couldn’t blame him. He knew he’d, not just ignored, but absolutely obliterated a serious boundary of society. Of decency even. But Boba was alive and healthy and back with his family so how could he regret anything? 

That Boba’s buir had turned out to be Jaster Mereel’s adopted son, Jango Fett, was certainly a complication that he hadn’t anticipated, but he supposed it made sense now why the pirates would hold such a young child captive. You could certainly charge a king’s ransom for the Mand’alor’s grandson. 

With his infection and subsequent fever gone, Obi-Wan could only vaguely remember what had happened in the cell when the Mandalorians arrived. He remembered fear, and the intense need to protect the child at his breast. He remembered a fight, quick as it had been, wrestling a knife far too easily from the hand of one of the armoured beings, sliding that knife up and in between the plates of their armour. A startled shout, his hand slick with blood. Fear again, but not just his own. 

And then he’d been there. His alpha. 

No, not his alpha. Fett. Boba’s buir. Some hazy part of his hindbrain had known straight away, even as his instincts clung to the child. Likely, it was the similarities in their scent, or the similarities in their appearance; both sharing the same brown eyes and the same thick curls. Because Fett had removed his helmet . He’d let Obi-Wan see his face, get his scent. It was the only reason he hadn’t attacked as soon as the man was within reach. 

He remembered Boba’s joy as he’d leapt into his buir’s arms, and his own relief as he’d sagged back against the wall. His child was held by the alpha and the alpha was safe and Boba was safe and Obi-Wan-

Wasn’t safe because then the alpha had drugged him. 

Waking alive and unharmed in the medbay of Fett’s ship had been a revelation. The medic, who he remembered vaguely from his time on Manda’yaim, was surprisingly gentle with him. Taking time to explain his injuries in a soft tone, detailing the treatments he’d been given, and enquiring cautiously as to whether his captors had done anything else he needed to know about. His voice had gone even softer when he’d asked Obi-Wan to confirm that he’d nursed Boba. And oh, the hot flood of shame that brought on. 

Then Mij had left to find food and his alpha - no, the alpha - had come to see him and without the confusion of fever Obi-Wan could appreciate how the features that he was so used to on Boba, that were simply cute on a child so young, were handsome on an adult man. And Fett had been kind at first, grateful and gentling him sweetly like the frightened omega he was irritated to realise he currently was, and Obi-Wan was desperately confused because hadn’t the medic told him-?

Apparently, he had not.

Obi-Wan was appalled after the fact by the way he’d flinched and whimpered from the alpha’s anger. He’d faced antagonistic alphas many times in his life. Force, back in that cell he’d stabbed an alpha for stepping too close to him, but with Fett… It wasn’t just that an alpha was angry. It was that his alpha was angry. At least that was the way it felt, and wasn’t that kriffed up beyond belief?

He’d felt so small in the man’s grasp. He could recall exactly how he’d shaken him like a ragdoll, like he weighed nothing, and how his tabards, still loose and stretched from being pushed aside so often to feed Boba, had fallen open and his swollen breasts had been exposed to the alpha and the burst of heat that had shot through him-

And then Fett had told him to stay away from their son. His son. Fett’s son. And Obi-Wan had agreed, even though it was like tearing his own beating heart from his chest. 

He kept his promise as the days stretched and passed and his head cleared more and more, even as he ached to hold the babe, and all he had was Mij’s kind assurances that the boy was healthy and happy. 

Obi-Wan found that he liked Mij more and more and the grizzled old alpha certainly seemed to be soft with him. That first day he’d brought him food and clean clothes and a special tool to cut away his Force suppressant cuff. It was a relief to have the Force back, though he found he could no longer push his emotions out into it as easily as he used to, meaning he was as unsettled and emotional as he had been as a youngling. All the new instincts and emotions he hadn’t had the chance to learn about being an omega pressed in on him, making his head and heart ache. 

Each day after that, Mij kept him talking and distracted until exhaustion weighed heavily enough upon his bones that sleep could finally claim him. He brought him pads to read and odds to tinker with to keep his mind off things; mainly where Boba was, whether he was okay, whether he was hungry, wanted to play, wanted a story. Obi-Wan had to grit his teeth hard against the instinct to seek out his child. The child. 

It didn’t help that he was also so Force-damned uncomfortable. The daily injections Mij gave him were working, his milk production was decreasing, but he hadn’t been prepared for how difficult it would be to express the now-unnecessary milk down the drain. It felt like he would spend hours standing over the little sink in the fresher next to the medbay, gently trying to encourage the milk out with his fingers. He’d start calm enough, but by the end he was always sweating and crying and would only have managed to express about half of what he needed to. This meant that his discomfort never went entirely away, and would always return much too quickly, ratcheting up to pain in mere hours. 

He wasn’t sure if this was a physical problem or a psychological one, and he wasn’t prepared to ask Mij about it. It was possible he simply wasn’t trying hard enough to express the milk because his instincts were screaming at him not to waste it, that his child was nearby and needed it. 

Except Boba wasn’t his child, and he no longer needed Obi-Wan’s milk.

***

Jango avoided the Jetii for two weeks, which he actually thought was impressive given that the ship really wasn’t that big. Part of it was that Obi-Wan barely left the medbay, he and Mij confining themselves to that space while the omega dealt with his instinctual urges. Mij spent so much time with the young omega in fact, that one morning, irritated and snappish, Jango had found himself biting out a cruel insinuation about the older alpha, that he fiercely regretted and wished he could take back. Mij had been understanding, given Jango’s agitation over the boundaries Obi-Wan had crossed with his ad, but firm that his care for the omega was not of that nature. 

Jango hadn’t told any of the other verde that Obi-Wan had nursed Boba; not even Myles. He couldn’t tell if it was for the omega’s benefit or his own. Thinking about what Obi-Wan had done made him feel… strange. He was angry, yes, but that was only part of it. There was also jealousy, that a perfect stranger had shared an intimacy with his ad that he would never experience, and admiration for what the omega had been willing to do for Boba, and under all of that, a hot sort of pleasure. This had to be his most base alpha instincts, his most hindbrain response to an omega showing themselves to be capable of caring for ade, to be willing to care for his . 

It was confusing, to say the least, and the journey back to Manda’yaim was a long one and having the omega so close for so long was kriffing with his hormones; making him aggressive and waspish with his verde. 

He was also starting to feel like he might owe the omega an apology. 

He’d taken, in the last day or so, to prowling the corridors closest to the medbay. He wasn’t sure whether he was trying to find the courage to speak to Obi-Wan, or if he was making sure that the omega didn’t decide to venture out among the verde. Thinking of him out there surrounded by his vode also made him feel weird. He’d brought his strongest fighting force with him to rescue Boba, which functionally meant that the majority of the Mando’ade on board were alphas. His concern wasn’t necessarily that he thought a single one his vode would harm Obi-Wan, that any of them were the type to ignore an omega that told them no. It was more- what if Obi-Wan didn’t want to tell them no? 

He was aware that he was thinking altogether too much about the omega in relation to other alphas, which he blamed on his kriffed up instincts. Because this omega had nursed his child, so this omega was his.  

Except, of course, that he wasn’t. 

Jango gave a groan of frustration and dragged a rough hand through his curls. He was pacing again, somewhere not too close to, but also not too far from, the medbay. 

He heard footsteps approach and turned to meet Mij’s unimpressed eyebrows. The baar’ur looked tired, he noticed. He had a tray of simple food in his hands; a few plain flatbreads and dried uj fruits, and a shake of some kind, likely protein and calorie enhanced to replace what Obi-Wan had lost. What he’d lost while nursing Jango’s ad. Haar’chak.

“Anything I can help you with, alor?” The Baar’ur watched him carefully. 

“You look tired, Mij.” He said instead of answering. The corner of his friend’s mouth lifted.  

“So do you. Boba sleeping okay?” 

“Yes, he just-” Jango shrugged helplessly, “he keeps asking for Obi-Wan.” 

Mij nodded at this. “They went through something traumatic together, makes sense that he’s having a hard time letting go.” 

“Yeah.” Jango agreed. “Has Obi-Wan been asking for him?”

“Jango.” He was scolded. “He’s kept away from him, just like you asked, even though it’s causing him pain. Let him be.” 

Jango’s breath caught a little in his throat. “He’s in pain?” 

Mij sighed and looked away down the corridor, in the rough direction of the medbay. “He won’t talk to me about it. He won’t even admit that he is. But I can smell it. He reeks of it.” 

Jango swallowed, unsure how to respond. Clearly it was his fault that Obi-Wan was hurting, but it was important for the two to be separated, to cut off any bond that they’d begun to form. For all their sakes. Mij eyed him for a moment longer, then pushed past, back in the direction of the medbay, with Obi-Wan’s food. 

***

That night, when Jango tucked Boba into his bunk, the boy seemed more subdued than usual, his mood lower than it had been since they rescued him. Jango smoothed a kiss to his head and rumbled a low soothing note in his chest. Boba just gave a sigh, dramatic for such a young ad. 

“What is it, Bob’ika?” He murmured, climbing up onto the bunk beside his son and letting him curl into his chest. 

“You said Obi would be okay.” Boba snuffled, and rubbed his little face into Jango’s sleep-shirt. 

Jango swallowed around the guilt that felt lodged in his throat. “He is okay, Bob’ika. He’s just staying in the medbay until he’s better.” 

A considering sound from his son, who hitched his legs into a more comfortable position at Jango’s side and kicked him in the kidney in the process. “But he’s sad.” 

“How do you know that?” Jango blinked down at Boba, fear slipping through his veins. Could Obi-Wan have made some special Jetii bond with his son? He knew they could do that with each other, he’d heard about training bonds and soul bonds and things that let them feel each other over distances. 

And then his son broke his heart, just a little. “‘Cos I’m sad. So he must be too.” 

“Oh, Bob’ika.” Jango curled closer and pressed his head to Boba’s in a gentle mirshmure’cya. 

***

If the next day Jango’s prowling took him much closer to the medbay than ever before, practically to the doors, then he told himself it had nothing to do with what Boba had said the night before. 

Kriff, this is ridiculous. Just go and talk to the Jetii. 

He growled at himself in irritation and took the last few steps to the medbay door, the faint clank of his beskar’gam resuring in its familiarity. He was fully armoured but for his buy’ce, as he had been any time he left his quarters since the Jetii came aboard, not willing to take any risks. He’d noticed that Mij seemed to have fewer gaide strapped on each time saw him, clearly becoming complacent the more time he spent with Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

Jango raised a gloved hand to slap the door release, but froze when he heard a faint whimper filter through the closed durasteel. The sound cut straight through him, the sound of an omega in distress, the sound if his omega -

He’d slammed the door control before he could even think that perhaps Obi-Wan would want privacy, especially from him. When he stepped into the bay, he found it empty of Mij and any other verde. The only soul in the room was the little omega who was sat once again on the side of his bed, feet just touching the floor below him. Jango couldn’t see his face, just the top of his head - and his hair was actually very red now that it was clean, shining copper and gorgeous - where he was curled forward over his knees, his arms wrapped tightly around his midsection, as if that were all that was holding him together. 

The omega let out a sob and Jango’s legs took him another step into the room almost without his permission. “Obi-Wan?”

The omega’s head shot up and Jango could see that his cheeks were wet, his pretty eyes red. “Alor.” He gasped, and Jango pretended that the beautiful omega calling him alor wasn’t doing things to him . 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, stepping closer so that he was just a few paces from Obi-Wan, and that was apparently close enough to scent him because he almost had to wrinkle his nose at how much the omega was reeking of pain, just as Mij had said. But it wasn’t the sour tang of emotional pain that clung to the omega’s skin, as suspected, but the sharp brightness of physical pain. “What happened?” He demanded, reaching out as if to search the omega for injury, his hand stalling in the air when the young man flinched. 

“I’m fine.” He whispered and swiped angrily at the fresh tears that clung to his eyelashes. 

“You’re in pain. Mij didn’t say you were still injured.” A sinking feeling starts up in his stomach. “Omega, have you hurt yourself?” He demands, putting just a little alpha power behind it, and Obi-Wan jerks in his seat. 

“No!” and he sounds appalled enough that Jango relaxes, relieved. “Force, no. I promise. It’s just- just a side-effect of the injections.” 

That didn’t reassure Jango much, in all honesty, since Mij had assured him that the treatment was perfectly safe when he’d, during a particularly confusing flare of his instincts, forced his way into the baar’ur’s quarters to ask. “Have you told Mij that you’re in pain? We can stop the injections, find another way.” 

Obi-Wan stared up at him, a frown creasing along his fine brow, before he shook his head, hesitantly. “The treatment’s fine, I need to do it. It’s just-” The omega hung his head back down, but not before Jango saw the flush that spread across his face. “I’m just uncomfortable, alor, because I’m, you know, full. ” 

Full? Was Mij overfeeding the omega? He needed to get his weight back up, sure, but there were procedures when dealing with starvation, about mild foods and increasing portions slowly, and certainly Mij should know that as a medic. While he was still trying to work out how to address that, the omega suddenly let out another whimper and curled forward far enough that his forehead touched his knees, arms wrapped tight around his stomach. No, not his stomach, higher, across his- oh.

“The milk.” Jango said, stupidly. 

Obi-Wan moaned in agreement and wrapped his arms even tighter, the scent of pain peaking higher in the air. He was in a lot of pain, Jango noted absently, and over a prolonged period of time. The fullness in his breasts as his body produced milk to nourish Jango’s ad becoming an uncomfortable ache as it built up. 

“Aren’t you meant to be able to express it? Put it down the drain or something?” 

“I can’t.” The omega whimpered, and raised his face to look at Jango, pleadingly. “It doesn't work.” 

He stared as Obi-Wan curled forward once again, crying out this time with the pain. Kark, he couldn’t stand this. He raised his Kom’rk to signal Mij, tapping out a quick request for him to bring Boba to the medbay. 

Jango could tell that Obi-Wan noticed the second the ad came through the door, babbling from his place resting on Mij’s hip, because his head jerked up so fast he was afraid that he’d hurt himself, and his lips parted on a gasp of shock, scent suddenly turning so ripe with joy that Jango almost swooned. Mij came to a stop beside Jango and eyed Obi-Wan carefully, who didn’t even acknowledge him, too busy drinking in the sight of Boba before him. 

“Everything alright, alor?” Mij enquired and Jango sensed that the question was as much for Obi-Wan as it was for him and he had the same surety as two weeks ago that Mij would actually kick his shebs for the omega’s sake. The thought gave him an unexpected curl of satisfaction. 

“Fine.” He grunted, and held his hands out for Boba. Mij passed the boy over, who was now struggling to get to Obi-Wan and shrieking his name in excitement. Mij stayed just long enough to watch Jango hoist the squirming ad into a stunned Obi-Wan’s lap, before shooting him a far too knowing look, and disappearing back out of the medbay. 

“Obi, Obi, Obi!” Boba squealed, writhing in the omega’s hold so that he could fling his little arms around his neck. Obi-Wan held the boy securely against himself, and let him do as he pleased, a soothing omegan purr starting in his chest, but his eyes didn’t leave Jango’s for a second. He wasn’t sure the young man had even blinked. 

Jango crossed his arms over his chest and huffed at the scrutiny. “Feed him.” 

Obi-Wan blinked, finally. “What?”

“You’re in pain. Feeding him will help.” Jango turned his head, and grit his teeth. “I can’t leave you alone with him for it though. Sorry.” 

There were another few quiet moments, the only sounds Obi-Wan’s purr and Boba’s satisfied snuffles, and then the omega cautiously took one hand off the ad’s waist and reached up to untie his tunic. Mij had found him one that wrapped over itself and tied at the side; presumably to make it easier when Obi-Wan needed to express. It worked just as well in this context. 

Obi-Wan drew one side of the tunic back, revealing his left breast. Even Jango winced at how flushed and swollen it looked, the nipple standing out red and sore. The omega still didn’t look away from Jango’s face, even as he palmed the back of Boba’s head and guided him down to his chest, as if he expected Jango to take it back, take the ad away at any moment. Boba made a pleased sound and latched his mouth immediately around the man’s breast. 

Obi-Wan couldn’t quite suppress the flinch, obviously sensitive. Boba began to suckle in earnest, and Jango found himself watching the way his throat moved as he swallowed every few seconds, in between what were obviously deep, satisfying pulls of milk. Jango looked back up at Obi-Wan’s face when he whimpered, his scent telling him that this time it was in relief rather than pain, and watched as his expression finally broke, fresh tears flooding from his eyes as he dropped his nose down to the crown of Boba’s head, inhaling deeply. 

“Ni ceta,” the omega murmured into his son’s hair. “Ni ceta, ni ceta, ni ceta.” Jango wasn’t sure if Obi-Wan was talking to Boba or to him, his eyes still glued to his as they were, but the chant made something in his heart clench. More tears spilled down into Boba’s hair, and Obi-Wan continued to murmur.

“Ni ceta, ni ceta, ni ceta.” 

Jango stripped the gloves from his hands, and was relieved when Obi-Wan only stiffened, and didn’t flinch away, when he stepped up close. His scent was softening out now, the pain being overtaken by satisfaction and relief and the sweet smell of the milk. Slowly, Jango fitted one broad palm around the back of the omega’s neck in a gentle scruff, letting his warmth and scent leech into the young man’s skin. After another second of holding his body tense, Obi-Wan relaxed all at once, going boneless under his palm, and closing his eyes to tuck his face further into Boba’s hair. The litany finally stopped. 

“He never had this, you know.” Jango said softly, so as not to break the spell of peace that had fallen upon them. “His other buir died birthing him. She never got to hold him to her breast like this, never got to feed him. And I couldn’t stand to let anyone else to.” He let out a gust of a sigh. “Ni ceta, Obi-Wan.”

Jango placed his other hand carefully on his son’s back, just below where Obi-Wan cradled his head, and took a moment to simply breathe, revelling in the rightness of having his aliit below his hands. 

He’d address that thought later; acknowledge that he and Obi-Wan were not a family, but for now, he was swimming in the contented pheromones both the omega and his son were pumping into the hot, close space around them, and he simply let himself drift. 

He was vaguely aware when Obi-Wan shifted Boba around, latching him onto his other breast instead. Both sides of his tunic hung open now, seemingly uncaring that he was bared fully to an alpha’s view, the drained breast just a sweet, pale mound now that the pressure had been relieved, the nipple still slightly engorged from being worked by Boba’s mouth. Jango felt distantly, that it was arousing, but there was no urgency to the sensation whatsoever, the only instinctual drive controlling his body now was the one telling him to keep his omega feeling safe and comfortable while he fed their ad. He didn’t realise he’d joined Obi-Wan’s purr with his own until he felt the telltale vibration in his own chest. 

***

It became a daily occurrence after that. Late in the day-cycle, just before Boba was ready for bed, Jango would take his son to the medbay for a feed. Mij seemed to know exactly when to make himself scarce, so Jango never actually saw him and didn’t know what he thought of their new nightly ritual. Jango still wasn’t able to leave the omega to feed in private, but Obi-Wan showed no signs of caring, no signs of discomfort, now that he trusted that it wasn’t a ruse, that Jango wouldn’t rip Boba from his breast. Jango still stood close enough to touch his son, but he refrained from putting hands on the omega again. 

It didn’t matter much; they would all still end up floating in the potent cocktail of their pheromones anyway. 

He’d worried after the first time, when his head had cleared a little, that this would slow down Obi-Wan’s treatment, make it harder for his milk to dry up if he was actively feeding an ad, but each day they did this, he produced less, and fed Boba for a shorter amount of time. Jango told himself this was a good thing, especially given that they drew closer to home every day and he’d already been in touch with the Jetii council to arrange for someone to meet them on Manda’yaim to collect the omega. This is what he told himself, even as his heart ached with each shortened time they had wrapped around his son as he fed, filling his chest with the sensation of alitt like he’d never had.  

Tonight, Obi-Wan had shifted Boba to his second breast just minutes after he’d started on the first and Jango had to work hard to control the sinking feeling in his stomach. He hoped none of it had shown on his face, but the omega had looked at him strangely as he’d sifted gentle fingers through Boba’s hair while he suckled. Afraid suddenly that this would be the last time they’d do this, Jango reached out to cup Obi-Wan’s face in both hands, tilting him back so that he could look up straight into Jango’s eyes. He wasn’t sure what madness had taken hold, what his intentions even were, and he simply held the omega like that for a moment, his thumbs smoothing gently paths along the thin skin below Obi-Wan’s eyes; looking much less bruised and tired and gaunt than Jango had ever seen him. 

The omega’s lips parted, just slightly, just enough for Jango to see the glisten of his tongue where it swept moisture along the inside of his lower lip, and his eyelashes fluttered down against his cheeks, brushing softly along the tips of Jango’s thumbs. 

Kriffing hell, he’s beautiful. 

Obi-Wan’s eyes blinked back open and Jango could see how enlarged his pupils had become, almost swallowing the blue-grey around them. He took a deep breath in, enjoying the swirling cocktail of the scent of aliit and contentment and milk and-

-and slick. Obi-Wan seemed to notice at the exact moment Jango did, gasping in a sharp breath and jerking his head back, out of Jango’s palms. They stared at each other, Obi-Wan’s eyes comically wide, and Jango was ready to soothe, to laugh it off, to maybe tell him how uncomfortable his own ven’cabur had become, when the omega’s scent suddenly spiked with terror.  

Jango took an immediate step back, giving Obi-Wan plenty of space, keeping his arms raised slightly at his sides to demonstrate his lack of threat. He remembered well what the omega could do when frightened and holding Boba in his arms; Kal would be doing physical therapy for months for the damage to the muscles under his arm. And that had been without his Jetii magic. 

They finished the feed in silence, though the omega watched him warily for every remaining second, and then Obi-Wan was bundling Boba back into Jango’s arms and practically steering them toward the door. 

“We don’t need to do this again.” 

Jango looked back over his shoulder at the omega. “What?”

“Boba fed for barely a few minutes before I was done. I don’t think we need to do this again.” 

“Obi-Wan-” Jango began, starting to turn back, wanting to say something to reassure the omega that he wasn’t angry about what he’d smelled, but the scent of fear was getting drowned out now by embarrassment and he didn’t want to make Obi-Wan feel any worse so- “alright. We should be arriving in two day-cycles anyway. I’ll bring him so you can say goodbye then.” 

Jango turned determinedly on his heel, and marched out of the medbay. He didn’t look back. 

***

So you can say goodbye.

Oh, Force, but that was going to be difficult. Seeing Boba again regularly had helped. Being weaned off his presence, as the boy had been weaned off his milk, had eased much of his hurts; physical and emotional. But never to see the child again? Obi-Wan wasn’t sure he was prepared. 

Better to cut it off though, so that he could start to rebuild his shields around himself, especially now that he’d humiliated himself in front of Jango- in front of Fett. Force, what must the alpha think of him, getting slick with a babe pressed to breast? He likely thought him even more depraved now than he had when he first discovered Obi-Wan had nursed his child. 

It wasn’t about Boba, of course, it was just that their feeds had been getting so much shorter, and Obi-Wan hadn’t been losing himself in them in the same way, so when Fett had cupped his face in his hands so gently, and looked at him like that, it had been too easy to forget about the child and let the rush of heat settle over his skin. 

The feeds with their alpha there had felt so special, so intimate, so much like they were a real family, that Obi-Wan had been reminded often of the daydreams he’d indulged in when he and Boba were back in that cell, of an alpha finding pleasure in Obi-Wan caring for his child, of that alpha wanting to protect him, to keep him .

Force, Obi-Wan couldn’t wait to get his new implant. These feelings and instincts were just so much; so overwhelming, so confusing. 

The sooner he was back with the Jedi the better. Just a few more days.

***

Jaster wouldn't allow a Jetii convoy to land in the capital of Manda’yaim, Keldabe, even with their treaty in place, so the plan was to make a quick stop to deliver Boba to his ba’buir and then they’d continue onto Sundari where the Jetiise could make berth. Originally, Jango had intended to depart in Keldabe as well, entrusting the Jetii to Myles and his Ori’ramikade for the final leg of his journey, but now that the Jetii wasn’t simply the Jetii, but was also the omega, was Obi-Wan , Jango felt somewhat responsible. Boba would always be safe with Jaster, and Keldabe was the best defended city in the sector. Jango could bear the separation for a few days. 

When they put down in the landing port, Jango breathing out a sense of relief at the familiar landscape through the viewing screens, Obi-Wan was waiting outside the medbay. He looked a little wan, but still much improved from the condition they’d found him in with the pirates, so Jango didn’t let it worry him. His hands were tucked into his sleeves, and he was making a very solid attempt at projecting that famous Jetii serenity. If Jango couldn’t scent his stress and see the tightness around his eyes, he might have believed it. 

Without a word, he handed Boba over and his ad immediately clasped little arms around the omega’s neck. “We’re home, Obi!” He told him, scent overflowing with joy. 

Obi-Wan chuckled wetly. “You sure are, little one. Your ba’buir is waiting. I bet he’s missed you.” He held Boba closer, into a proper hug, which the boy returned, and turned his head to breathe in that sweet ad scent. Then, with a sniffle, Obi-Wan extracted Boba’s arms from around his neck and eased him back into Jango’s grasp. Boba seemed confused that Obi-Wan hadn’t held him for long, but didn’t protest. “Take care of your buir now, Boba. Keep him out of trouble. You’re going to grow up twice as strong as him and three times as clever.” 

“Hey.” Jango muttered a little petulantly, but ticked the corners of his mouth up into a smile when he saw the mirth in Obi-Wan’s face. The omega gave one last look at his son, the glimmer in his eyes speaking of nothing less than longing, then he turned and disappeared quickly back into the medbay. 

Jango let out a breath, pressed a kiss to the side of Boba’s head, and made his way through the well-worn corridors of the ship, feeling the slight jolt beneath his feet that told him the landing ramp had been lowered. 

Boba murmured dissatisfaction in his ear, and twisted in his arms. “Obi isn’t coming?” 

“No, Bob’ika. Obi needs to go back to his own home now.” Silas met him at the intersection above the cargo hold, Boba’s bag slung over one armoured shoulder. 

“But buir, I want Obi here!” Jango met his vod’s sympathetic eyes as Boba once again changed hands, settling with the ease of practice onto Silas’ hip. 

Jango passed a final hand over Boba’s hair. “I’m sorry, Bob’ika, but this isn’t where he belongs. You need to forget him now.” He nodded at Silas, who hoisted the bag a little higher and pushed away from the wall. “Tell buir I’ll be back soon.” He told him. A lazy solute, and then his vod was off, Boba turning in his arms to keep watching Jango, eyes wide with something that could have been betrayal. 

Chapter Text

Qui-Gon Jinn was meditating. He always found it more difficult to do so in space, away from anything lush and green and living ; it was largely why he despised space travel so much. He was a being of the Living Force, luminous, as his Grandmaster would say, he wasn’t meant to be up here surrounded by all this cold, dark nothingness. But he would endure it. For Obi-Wan, he would endure it.

When his old Padawan had missed a check-in with the Council, he hadn’t been too worried. They’d let him know, the same courtesy they’d extend to any Master with a missing (former) Padawan, but he hadn’t let it panic him. There were any number of reasons why Obi-Wan would miss a check-in, and certainly he’d done so before. Force, Qui-Gon himself had been quite blase about such things when they were on missions during Obi-Wan’s apprenticeship; likely the young man had just learnt it from him. 

When Obi-Wan had missed the second, and then the third check-ins, that’s when the fear had set in. Qui-Gon was a Jedi Master, he was capable of rising above emotion, of accepting when someone dear to him had become one with the Force, but oh, how he hoped that Obi-Wan hadn’t.

Then the ransom demand had arrived. The parcel was delivered to the Temple steps by a confused, and perfectly innocent courier (who may have left with a fear of the masked Temple Guards so strong he’d never take a delivery marked for the Jedi ever again) and contained a simple flimsi note with a demand for five million Republic Credits, a holo of his former Padawan, beaten, unconscious but clearly alive, and Obi-Wan’s lightsaber. 

When Qui-Gon had stepped into the Council Chamber to inspect the contents of this package, to plan with his fellow Masters what to do, the lightsaber was the first thing he’d reached for, the kyber calling out to him with a song of my master is alive, my master is alive and it hadn’t left his hand since. As long as Obi-Wan’s kyber sang of his continued presence in the galaxy, then Qui-Gon had hope, even if he couldn’t feel his former Padawan’s precious light in the Force. 

The durasteel hilt was clasped loosely in his hand, even now as he meditated, supplicant on his knees. 

The flimsi note and holo had been delivered expediently to the Senate for inspection, as was protocol, where they purported to verify its authenticity. Following such verification, there would be a debate, and then there would be a vote. After that, if they voted to pay the ransom, there would be a period of at least a tenday while the funds were approved and cleared. If they voted to pay the ransom. 

This was why, at the same moment the flimsi and holo were making their way to the Senate Dome, Qui-Gon was boarding a ship bound for Telos IV, and his former Padawan’s last known location. The Jedi Council may bow to the wishes and whims of the Senate as they were required by law, but they didn’t trust them with the lives of one of their own. Not for a moment. 

Letting out a long breath, Qui-Gon sank deeper into the Force, searching, searching for anything, any trace of his former Padawan or whisper of guidance from the Cosmic Force. His connection wasn’t strong to the Cosmic Force, not like Obi-Wan’s was, too rooted in the present of the Living Force, but if it had something to say now, anything that might lead him back to his child, then he would listen. 

Beyond the cold blanket of space, he could sense lives all around the galaxy, indistinct pricks of warmth, unsearchable in the way you couldn’t find a single droplet in a whole ocean. It usually comforted him to feel so surrounded by life, but at this moment all he wanted was to feel one prick of light, one particular, beloved flare of warmth. He and Obi-Wan still had the last echoes of the training bond they’d shared through their apprenticeship together, though it had been pruned and muted as was appropriate between two peers, but every time he’d reached within himself to search it, to grasp for that glimmer of connection, he’d been met with nothing but a smooth, dark wall; slippery as glass. 

He’d gone to Telos IV, even as putting his boots down on that wretched planet was like tearing strips from himself; seeing shadows of both his apprentices everywhere he looked. Here was a security holo of Obi-Wan moving through a crowd, hands tucked beneath his sleeves, here was a broken circle, graffitied along the side of an abandoned building. Here was another security holo, but of Obi-Wan taking on nine armed assailants and being overwhelmed, here was the detention building where Xanatos had held Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan for execution just a few years ago.  

He had found nothing more, and pursued by ghosts, he had fled the system. 

Sending the security holos back to the Temple had proved fruitful, however, and Mace had come back to him with the identification of two of Obi-Wan’s assailants. Their faces were known across Republic detention services for black market smuggling and piracy. There was no last known location, before or after Telos IV, for either being, but a flimsi-trail that the Head Archivist, Madame Nu, had followed revealed that one of them had business interests on Kestos Minor, so that was where he went next. 

Another crumb of a clue; a rumour about a cantina patron who bragged about holding a Jedi captive and Qui-Gon was off again. On Picutorian he caught up to a mercenary who’d taken a job with a pirate who knew that cantina patron and with just a little judicious use of the Force he had a name. With a name, he found a registered ship. With a registered ship he found a docket of flight plans, zigzagging across the Kwymar sector, just as Qui-Gon had been for weeks. 

It was traversing one of these flight paths where he found himself now, reaching out to find something, anything that might hail a clue to where the pirate had stopped, where his Padawan might be held. He prodded once more, with little hope at the place where their bond used to be and gasped aloud at the flare of light and warmth that burst across his mind. 

Qui-Gon’s eyes flew open. Obi-Wan was alive. 

***

The flight to Sundari wasn’t a long one, only a couple of days, but Obi-Wan was still antsy as Corellian hell. He felt cooped up and desperate to stretch his legs. After so long in that cell, and then nearly as long again basically confined to the medbay on this Force-damned ship, it had been months and he just needed something to settle all his nervous energy. 

Mij had taken to watching him like he was a feral tooka since they dropped Boba off in Keldabe; moving slowly and talking in soft tones. Suggesting he take naps and then leaving offerings of food on his bed. It was almost enough for Obi-Wan to go for him, like he was a feral tooka. 

He hadn’t seen Fett at all. Which, he should have expected, really. Without Boba, they had no reason to seek each other out, no connection beyond that of two adults who cared deeply about the same child. But, it still ached.

“Alright, Ob’ika, last one.” Obi-Wan was shaken from his thoughts by the gentle voice of the medic. Mij’s attention was taken up with loading the hypospray for Obi-Wan’s last hormone shot, and he could take a moment to study the alpha. He was human as far as Obi-Wan could tell, and greying badly. His nose had clearly been broken too many times, and it should have made his face severe, but the kindness in his eyes tempered it. 

Mij shook the hypo, then turned his attention to Obi-Wan, who obligingly lifted up his sleeve. The device hissed as it was depressed against his skin. 

“There.”

He shuffled his sleeve back down to his hand as Mij busied himself disposing of the waste. “Thank you, Mij. How long do we need to wait until you can put a new implant in?” The pause in the medic’s movements was minute, but the roll of emotions Obi-Wan could pick up from him spoke volumes. “What is it?”

Mij sighed, and turned back to him. Hooking an ankle around a nearby hoverstool he dragged it closer until he could settle his weight onto it with a groan. He gave Obi-Wan a long look for a moment, and he tried not to fidget under the scrutiny. What he wouldn’t give for some Jedi robes right now to hide his nervous hands in. 

“Your production is still higher than I’d like, Ob’ika.” Obi-Wan opened his mouth to make a denial, to explain that his milk was reducing, but Mij held up a hand to stall him. “And even if it wasn’t, I don’t like your bloodwork. Your oestrogen is still too high; your prolactin is still too high. If I stick an implant in you now there could be all sorts of unintended side-effects.” 

“I can handle it.” Obi-Wan grumped.

“It’s not about handling it. The conflicting hormones could have any number of interactions. They could cause seizure, even stroke. They could send you into an unplanned, and frankly dangerous, heat.” Mij sighed, and reached over to take one of Obi-Wan’s hands into his own. “I’m sorry, ad’ika, really, I know you’re feeling all messed up, but if I gave you that implant now, I wouldn't deserve to call myself a Doctor.” 

Obi-Wan startled a little at the basic phrase, and squinted at him. He’d never heard anyone refer to Mij as anything other than Bar’uur, even when they conversed with Obi-Wan in basic. The old alpha smiled. “I got my medical licence in the core. Did my residency at Alderaan General.”

Obi-Wan was aware that his mouth had dropped open. “You- but- how?” His stutter got a soft chuckle, and Mij used his grip on Obi-Wan’s hand to pull his hoverstool closer to the bed, propping an elbow up on the mattress beside Obi-Wan’s hip so he could rest his head against his hand. 

“I wasn’t born Mandalorian. I chose this life.”

“What happened?”

“I was working the night shift when this injured omega was brought in. Half-feral, a bit like you were, and trying to bite a nurse-droid for removing a piece of her beskar’gam. I knew a little of Mandalorian culture so I managed to settle her, get her treated.” Mij’s lips tilted in a wistful smile. “Turned out she’d been injured grounding a slave ship full of kidnapped ade before it could jump to hyper. So, you know, I swore the Resol’nare, became a Mandalorian and married her.” 

Obi-Wan gaped. “Just like that?”

“Just like that, ad’ika. When your instincts know, they know.” Mij patted him on the thigh and stood. 

Obi-Wan swung his legs over the side of the bed, pressing his feet against the durasteel floor. “Where is she now?” 

“She died a few years later, pulling some reckless stunt to save a vod. Never really stopped being half-feral. Never really stopped loving her, either.” Mij shrugged, and gave a quick double tap with two fingers over his iron heart; a ritual obviously oft repeated. “You need a moment alone?” Obi-Wan frowned at him in confusion, until the medic dipped his head, gesturing toward his chest. When Obi-Wan looked down, there was a wet spot on his tunic, and yes, now that he was focussing on it, his breasts throbbed with fullness. He nodded and Mij pulled the privacy curtain on his way out. 

Obi-Wan slumped back against the pillows he’d only really just levered himself out of. He hated this. He pressed a palm up over the wet spot, massaging as gently as he could, but made no move to uncover himself. There wasn’t really any point; he was no more able to express it down the drain now than he was when Boba was still on board, and now there was no child to nurse it from him. 

He thought about Mij, changing his whole life for an omega he’d just met. He’d had a fancy core job - he knew Alderaan General, it was a well funded hospital - and he’d given it all up to be a field medic to a bunch of mercenaries because, what? His instincts told him to? 

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure he could understand it, but something ached below his breastbone anyway. Not glandular like his milk ache, or muscular, but deeper, right inside his ribcage.

***

If Mand’alor Jaster Mereel was anything, he was a good ba’buir, which is why he hadn’t snapped at the ik’aad that was bawling in his arms, and had been for the solid day and a half since Jaster’s thrice-damned ad had dropped him off. 

“Udesii, Bob’ika, udesii.” He murmured desperately, bouncing the ik’aad in his arms. Boba’s little round face was red and scrunched from crying, his eyes probably sore and itchy from the near constant tears. 

“Want Obi!” He hiccuped and Jaster let out an exasperated sigh. When Jan’ika got home he was going to kick his shebs for this thrice-damned mess. 

“Obi-Wan isn’t here, Bob’ika, I’m sorry.” Another wail, and Jaster shifted the ad to the other hip to change which of his arms took the most strain. The ad’ika was starting to weigh as much as a hutt. He contemplated comming Jango to demand he turn around and bring the thrice-damned Jetii back, but he knew why his ad couldn’t do that. He’d commed a few hours before they were scheduled to touch down in Keldabe and he’d looked so drawn and tired that Jaster had feared for a moment that something had happened to Boba, even though he knew that he’d been retrieved unharmed. 

All it had taken was Jaster saying his ad’s name and Jan’ika had cracked open and spilled the whole messy story out between them. And what a fine mess it was. A Jetii omega milk-bonded to the grandson of the Mand’alor, and the Ven’Mandalor barely holding his instincts together enough not to bond the omega into his alitt whether the poor thing wanted it or not. 

He was proud of his ad for staying on to see the Jetii to Sundari, sticking it out even though he was fighting his instincts at every turn. It showed that he would make an excellent Mand’alor one day; understanding when a thing had to be done, even if it was difficult. However, this had left him on Boba duty. 

Well, technically Silas was on Boba duty but after a day and a half of the crying, Jaster had taken pity on the poor strained verd and given him the afternoon off to get some sleep. He bounced the precious ad in his arms and purred as best he could. A beta purr was a poor substitute for the rumble of his alpha buir’s but it would have to do. Boba quieted a little and turned to hide his little face against Jaster’s neck. “M’hungry.” he sniffled and Jaster tried not to seem too eager when he called over the hover chair they used for Boba’s meals. It was dangerous to let an ad know they were doing what you wanted them to; it might make them change their mind. They were contrary like that. 

Settling him into the seat, he clicked the tray into place with the ease of practice, and went to dig around in the travel bag Silas had left with him for a couple of little containers of cut meiloorun fruit and pureed tuber. He started with the tuber, which was in an insulated casing to hold its warmth, shovelling some up with a spoon and bringing it to Boba’s mouth with an exaggerated starship noise. The ad gave him an unimpressed look, too old really for starship noises, but the hangar bay opened and the mush disappeared inside. They managed two more landings before Jaster took his eye off the b’rrsk and one chubby fist shot out sending the container spinning off the edge of the tray, splattering pureed tuber across the carpet of the Mand’alor’s office. This was largely why Boba was not trusted to feed himself yet. 

Jaster sighed and stooped to retrieve the container, leaving the thrice-damned tuber for the cleaning droids, though it would certainly gum up the poor little mice. He smiled pleasantly at Boba - it was important not to react too much when an ad acted out - and simply tore the lid off the fruit container. When he set this cautiously in front of Boba, he was pleased when instead of sending it to join the tuber on his carpet, the ad reached in and snagged a fruit slice, bringing it up to gnash between his sharp little teeth. Jaster swore his other buir must have been part vornskr. He’d bitten Jaster’s arm once and gotten blood. There was still a scar. 

Reaching over, he snagged a meiloorun slice for himself, bursting its sweetness between his own lips. Boba bared his teeth and dragged the container closer to himself. Well, then. Little monster was certainly going to be an alpha like Jan’ika. He’d had possessive instincts since he was old enough to really start holding things; keeping them locked in his tiny fist and refusing to share his toys when the Ori’ramikade brought their own ade over to play. Boba stuffed the last two pieces in together, making his cheeks puff out, likely to make sure Jaster couldn’t swipe any more. 

“Well done. Shame you didn’t fancy the tuber.” The ad grumbled at him through a mouthful of mashed fruit, a dribble of juicy pulp slipping out on one side. Jaster wiped the sleeve of his shirt quickly through the mess and Boba threw him an affronted look. He mumbled something else through his food and started the process of trying to swallow the enormous bite. 

“What was that, Bob’ika?” The ad glared, swallowed again. 

“Obi.” Ah.

“I’m sorry, ad’ika, Obi isn’t here. Why don’t we try having a little nap now. Aren’t you sleepy?”

A grump. “Obi. Milk.” 

Well, that wasn’t ideal. Jaster sighed. “Obi can’t give you any milk right now, I’m sorry. Let’s try that nap, huh?” He hefted the ik’aad up out of the hover chair and got kicked in the side for his trouble. 

The comm unit on his desk beeped, the long range one that was for the official line of the Mand’alor, and he shuffled over to answer it, juggling Boba back onto his hip. The blue holo projection stuttered to life, showing a long-haired human in Jetii robes.

“Su cuy’gar, Mand’alor.” They bowed, tucking hands respectfully against their thighs. “I am Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn. I believe the Jedi council warned you I was coming.”

***

Just two days out from Sundari, they received word that a Jedi shuttle had entered Mandalore’s airspace and would be waiting to greet them when they reached the domed city. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure, but he thought he felt the golden glow in the back of his mind that meant his old Master was close, and indulged himself with a quick, selfish prayer to the Force that it was Qui-Gon that had come for him, and would soon be there to take him home. 

In the meantime, Obi-Wan only became more grumpy and uncomfortable aboard the Mandalorians’ ship. Mij still refused to replace his implant, which now meant that he would have to wait until he was back in the Temple and he was growing near sick of the strange urges and situational responses brought on by his unsuppressed instincts. 

The medic had, however, written up comprehensive notes on Obi-Wan’s injuries and the treatments he’d received that he was under strict instructions to pass to Healer Che once he was back. When he’d presented Obi-Wan with them, his mood had vacillated suddenly from being unable to stand the scent of an alpha so near - one that wasn’t his alpha - to wanting to climb into the man’s lap like a youngling and purr. All of this was very… confusing. 

Kriff, he needed to stretch his legs . 

Coming to a decision, Obi-Wan flung himself out of the bed he’d been calling home for weeks, ignoring the question in Mij’s raised eyebrow, and rifled around in the med-supplies for a roll of cotton bandages. Dragging the privacy curtain across, he untied his tunic and pushed it down off his shoulders to expose his tender breasts. He stretched the end of the bandage out and set it to his ribs and, a little clumsily, started to wrap the length around his chest, binding himself as tightly as he dared. It hurt, especially when he came to the end of the length and cinched it tight to tie it off, but when he shrugged back into his tunic, he couldn’t help but feel satisfied with the way he looked a little flatter, a little more like he used to. 

When he flung the curtain back, Mij made no comment. 

“I’m going for a walk.” Obi-Wan told him and he simply inclined his head in acknowledgement, and then went back to studying his datapad.

***

Jango was being a hut’uun. He could admit that to himself, he was an adult. He should have been using the time since they’d left Boba with his buir to get to know Obi-Wan without the crutch of the ad between them, to see if that intense surge of compatibility Jango was feeling toward the omega was just the result of watching him nurse his ik’aad, or if there was truly something there worth pursuing. 

Instead, he’d spent the last two day-cycles hiding in the karyai, knowing that with so many verde around, Obi-Wan wouldn’t venture there. What does it matter, anyway, if we’re compatible? He’s a Jetii . 

He was skulking there again, cup of shig cooling in his grasp, when the omega strolled in, bold as beskar, and plonked his shebs down at the dining table next to Kal. Jango choked on his sip of shig. 

“Su cuy’gar.” Obi-Wan greeted the verde at large cheerfully, before turning to Kal and apologising for his injury in near-perfect Mando’a. Jango’s vod looked stunned for a solid ten seconds, before his lips curled into a smile, leaning over to thump the omega on the shoulder like he was any other Ori’ramikad. Jango flinched and half rose from his seat, but Obi-Wan just smiled beatifically at Kal and asked if he could have a cup of shig. 

Jango couldn’t help but notice the flurry of vode that suddenly all needed to refresh their own cup, so of course they could get the omega one too, as he lowered back into his seat. He also couldn’t help the small rumbling growl that built in his chest. While only a handful of verde had actually seen Obi-Wan in action protecting Boba, the tale of the near-feral omega defending their Ven’Mand’alor’s ad, even as he could barely stand himself, had spread quickly amongst them. Kal had gone from bemoaning the loss of his knife to an injured omega to boasting that it was his blade Obi-Wan had used to fend off the Ori’ramikade, and his arm he’d nearly severed and wasn’t he just perfect. 

Really, Jango was about ready to throttle the lot of them. Even though it was quite right that his verde should applaud those qualities in an omega, should see that Obi-Wan was impressive and brave and beautiful, it still left a sour taste in the back of his mouth and a sick twist in his stomach because Obi-Wan was his to notice those things about. 

Har’chaak, that’s still happening then. 

On the other side of the room, Obi-Wan had been given two different types of shig to try; a handful of verde gathered around for his verdict. He looked bemused by these goings on, but relaxed enough, and when he took a sip from the first cup, he got a little flush of happiness in his cheeks that Jango found altogether too distracting. 

He must have been staring too long, or too intensely, because his verde started to shift a little uneasily, drifting away from the omega and back to whatever they’d been doing before he came in. When his groupies had been whittled down to just Kal and Vhonte, the latter a beta and looking singularly uninterested in proceedings, and the former staring Jango down in defiance, Obi-Wan finally seemed to notice that he’d lost his audience, and his eyes flashed, quick as a fathier, to Jango, and then away again. 

Jango dragged his gaze somewhere else, resolving to stop acting like a knothead. He took another mouthful of shig; actually cold now and frankly unpleasant. He stared out of the viewport. He tapped his foot on the floor. He did not look at Obi-Wan. 

A peel of laughter dragged his attention back, and he realised he’d never actually heard Obi-Wan laugh. It was nice. 

“I think you should probably let that shoulder heal first, friend. I’d hate to think that the famous Mandalorian Super Commandos were taking it easy on me.” Obi-Wan chuckled, reaching over to thump Kal, just as he had him. There was some satisfaction in seeing his vod wince, betraying the fact that his shoulder was still sore. 

“Someone else then.” Kal exclaimed and when Jango looked over he was staring at him, amusement written in every line of his face. 

“Alright.” Obi-Wan shrugged, and then a dozen verde were converging on him again. What the kriffing hell was going on now?

“Me.” Myles called from the doorway, stepping in with a cheeky smile splitting his face. There was grumbling, but the verde separated to allow him to approach Obi-Wan. As Jango’s second, only Jango got dibs over him. Whatever the kark they were dibsing on. 

Obi-Wan stood to greet the pantoran, giving a shallow little Jetii bow. “Have we met, friend?”

Myles laughed. “Sure. But you were feral. And then you were unconscious.” 

“Ah.” 

“Myles. I’m Jango’s second. And oldest friend.” He stuck his arm out for a wrist clasp, which Obi-Wan looked surprised by, but performed flawlessly, pale fingers wrapping confidently around the inside of Myles’ kom’rk. 

“Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi. Well met, Myles the Mandalorian.” The omega withdrew his arm, and Myles tilted his head back toward the door. 

“So, cargo hold?” 

Cargo hold? Why the kriff were they-

“No.” Jango stood, unable to keep the growl out of his voice. “You’re not sparring.” 

“Is there a rule against it, alor?” Obi-Wan inquired innocently, looking at Jango properly for the first time since he’d come into the room. 

He ground his teeth. “No. But you still shouldn’t.” 

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Jango held Obi-Wan’s stare for long moments before obviously, deliberately, flicking his eyes down to the chest of the omega’s tunic, where he knew his breasts were concealed. Obi-Wan’s flush spread like oil on beskar across his cheek. 

“Is there a problem, alor?” His eyes slid to meet Myles’. His vod looked confused. Which made sense, since Jango was currently acting like a di’kut and absolutely no one in this room knew about the strange tangle of encounters he’d shared with Obi-Wan. 

“No problem. Spar if you want.” He kicked his chair back with more force than was strictly necessary and slammed his way out of the room.

So much for not acting like a knothead. 

***

The red had just about faded from Obi-Wan’s face by the time he and the cluster of Mandalorians who had come to watch the spar made it down to the cargo hold, though he still felt the warmth of it under his collar. He was torn between righteous indignation that Fett would make reference to his condition in front of all his men, and a creeping, desperate arousal because the man had looked at him, had looked at his chest, had likely imagined what was under his clothes, which he knew because he’d seen-

Kriff, Obi-Wan really needed this spar. He just needed to fight out some of the energy thrumming under his skin, that was all. 

“So.” The cheerful pantoran, who had introduced himself as Myles, turned to grin at him. “Rules?”

“Hand-to-hand, first to be pinned loses.” He glanced at Myles out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t worry, you can keep your armour on.” This declaration was met with a few whoops and cat calls from their assembled audience, and Obi-Wan smirked, the thrill of the impending fight flushing through him. 

There was a chalk circle sketched out in the middle of the cargo hold, presumably for this exact reason, so he stepped up to take his place on one side. Myles sauntered up to the other, planting his buy’ce firmly back onto his head, hiding his fluff of lavender hair from view. Alright, then. 

Kal stepped up to the centre of the circle, apparently appointing himself as umpire since he’d been denied the chance to fight Obi-Wan himself. “Normal house rules apply; no permanent injury, step out of the circle and you're out. The combatants have elected hand-to-hand, so no weapons,” this came with a pointed look at Myles, who began stripping blasters and vibroblades out of seemingly every orifice, “and first to be pinned loses. Best of luck, verde!”

Obi-Wan took a calming breath, allowing his lungs to expand as far as his bound chest would allow, and then letting it out slowly, before sinking into a ready crouch. Myles, apparently done shedding weapons, stepped into the circle and Obi-Wan had a moment of dissonance, where the image of this Mandalorian in armour was overlaid with a memory. The image was fuzzy, as if heat haze curled around the edges, and he understood that it was from before; that Myles had been the first Mandalorian to step into his cell. 

Just as he hadn’t then, Obi-Wan didn’t hesitate, throwing himself at Myles’ waist, looking for a quick takedown. He’d done the same before, and kriff was it easier to pull off this move with both arms mobile, without precious cargo to protect tucked under one. But where the element of surprise had allowed him to throw the Mandalorian that first time, this time Myles was ready, and planted his feet, using his whole body weight to bind himself to the ground. Obi-Wan’s shoulder hitting beskar was like, well, like hitting beskar. It hurt. 

He didn’t let that slow him down, releasing Myles and rolling to the side when the Mandalorian reached down to grab him, obviously going for a handful of his hair, the dirty cheat. 

He bounded to his feet, grinning, the flood of adrenaline from the fight lighting him up inside. Force, he had missed this. Myles rushed him, using the momentum to throw a punch, which Obi-Wan caught between his two hands, twisting to try and use Myles’ own weight to throw him. Again, the Mandalorian dug his heels in and ripped his arm from Obi-Wan’s grasp. Myles came in again fast, gripping at his elbows to keep his arms pinned to his sides, unable to throw any punches back. In return, Obi-Wan flung his head forward in a headbutt. 

Admittedly, not the smartest move, given the beskar helmet his opponent wore, but he augmented the ‘butt with a little of the Force and the impact was enough to send Myles reeling back, nearly stepping out of the circle himself. The warriors around them roared. 

Obi-Wan shook the stars from his vision and leapt up to deliver a roundhouse kick straight into the side of Myles’ helmet, hoping the repeated blows to the head would disorient the Mandalorian, and feeling a surge of triumph when his opponent went sprawling. 

“Do you concede?” He called, bouncing on his toes. 

The vocoder on Myles’ helmet crackled with a laugh. “Not on your life, Jetii.” He lunged, quicker than Obi-Wan had expected, and managed to catch him around the middle, taking them both to the floor. He twisted quickly in the Mandalorian’s grasp, squirming to shake the grip on him. He managed by digging a sharp elbow into the vulnerable space between Myles’ chest plate and helmet until he cried out, tinny, arms loosening enough for Obi-Wan to flip them over. 

Now on top, he rained blows down onto Myles’ helmet until the other got an arm up and punched Obi-Wan squarely in the chest. And that- yeah, that would probably be fine any other time but right now when he’s swollen, and tender and sore? Kriffing ow.

Obi-Wan fell away with a gasp, clutching at his chest, tunic starting to dampen with sweat. Clearly never one to miss an advantage, Myles swung to his feet and rushed at Obi-Wan again. With no time to think of anything clever, he simply jumped, flipping up over the Mandalorian’s head to land behind him. Myles spun just as Obi-Wan straightened up. “Like that is it?” He called, laughter still translating through his helmet. Obi-Wan grinned back, then settled into the ready stance for Soresu, sans lightsaber, and beckoned with his front arm. With a roar, Myles charged, once again going for a grapple around the waist, and kriff this guy was actually fast and Obi-Wan had no time to do anything, only curse, as those arms closed around him. 

But Myles had misjudged too. Caught up in the fight, he’d forgotten that he was up against a recently malnourished omega, not another warrior in beskar, and the sheer weight of him, with all of his armour, was too much, and they both went sprawling straight out the edge of the circle. The other Mandalorians erupted into whoops and hollers at the draw, and Myles practically collapsed over Obi-Wan, shaking with mirth. He reached up to pat him on the beskar-clad back, letting himself laugh as well, feeling lighter than he had in months. 

***

When the sparring pair had rolled gracelessly out of the ring, Jango had slunk back into the shadows of the cargo hold, using the uproarious cries of his verde to cover his escape back up the stairs. Once he’d reached the relative safety of the upper corridors of the ship, he let his head clunk back against the bulkhead. Had that di’kut really given a kov’nyn to a fully armoured Mando’ade? He’d be lucky if he hadn’t given himself another damn concussion. 

He heard footsteps coming around the corner and pushed himself up to standing, not wanting a vod to find him trying to brain himself against the side of his own ship. But the figure that rounded into view didn’t come with the glint of electric ship lights off beskar, because it wasn’t a vod. It was the di’kutla omega himself. Jango moved before he could even think, crowding into Obi-Wan’s space and driving him back against the durasteel hull. One of Jango’s hands came up, shaped like a fist, to land above and a little to the left of the omega’s ear, who gasped, bringing two hands up to press his palms against Jango’s hal’cabur. 

“What were you thinking. ” He hissed, and pressed closer, not allowing the slide of sweaty palms over his hal’cabur and kar’ta beskar to deter him. Obi-Wan panted, the warmth of his breath gusting over Jango’s own mouth and chin. The omega had never smelt so good; sweat and adrenaline and happiness and under it all that sweet milk scent that Jango would never get out of his nostrils now, would always associate with this particular omega. 

“I was thinking that I went from being trapped in that damn cell to being trapped in your damn medbay and I needed to do something. ” Which. Okay, fine. Jango couldn’t necessarily fault that. Obi-Wan pushed harder against his chest, but he didn’t move an inch, spare hand coming up to snatch his slim wrists into one broad palm to hold them still. 

“Then say something . We could have found something for you to do. We can run drills in the kriffing corridors if that’ll help you. Anything that didn’t risk one of my verde getting a scent of you.” 

At this, Obi-Wan stilled in his grasp. “So none of them know. What I did.” 

“No.” Jango growled, and shook him slightly by his limp wrists. “And nor will they.” 

Obi-Wan swallowed, and Jango found his eyes dropping to watch the bob of his adam’s apple. His scent had soured a little, some of the shame he’d reeked of when Jango had first found out about him nursing Boba slinking in to cut through the golden notes of joy. 

“Dammit, Obi-Wan.” He let some of the tension drain out of his muscles, and dropped his head forward to press against the omega’s, brow to brow, in a gentle mirshmure’cya. Obi-Wan’s breath hitched, clearly having spent enough time on Manda’yaim to understand how intimate the position was. 

Jango rolled their temples together, and then, letting his head grow heavier, dropped it down to rest against the crook of the omega’s neck and shoulder. The smell of his sweat was stronger here, and Jango took a few deep huffing breaths, purring when a new note lanced through the scent; a quick, sharp burst of arousal. The milk smell was stronger here as well, much stronger, and it was all Jango could do to keep a groan locked behind his teeth. 

He released Obi-Wan’s wrists from his grasp and used that hand to grope along the omega’s side so that he could take hold of his waist. The tunic was wet with sweat; his fingers coming away damp and anointed. 

Jango didn’t know what he was doing, but Obi-Wan wasn’t stopping him, and seeing the way he’d fought Myles in that ring, he could if he wanted to. Instead, the omega just stood pliant under his hands, breath panting hard against Jango’s ear. He slid his hand higher, up over the bumps of no-longer-too-prominent ribs, to grip against the wet swell of a breast beneath the fabric. He squeezed, and couldn’t help the way his hips jerked at Obi-Wan’s moan, high and sweet in the back of his throat, as he began to thicken behind his ven’cabur. 

He squeezed harder, hoping to get the same noise, but this time the omega’s vocalisation was sharper, pained, and his hand was suddenly much wetter, fluid slicking over his knuckles to drip to the durasteel deck. Jango drew back to stare at where he still had a palmful of Obi-Wan’s breast, realising through the haze of lust that had clouded his mind, that the smell of milk was actually really strong, and Obi-Wan’s tunic was actually much wetter than he’d expect from what had been a relatively quick fight and-

“You’re leaking.” He barely recognised his voice, it was so gruff. He barely recognised his hands, when he started to tug at the omega’s tunic, tearing open the fastening and peeling the sodden fabric aside. He rocked back on his heels when he found the bind of white cotton beneath, sopping wet. 

Obi-Wan protested, when his two hands came up to grip the top of the bandages, but Jango wasn’t in any good state to listen, lust and simmering anger and the hot spark of his alpha instincts rendering him almost insensate, and the next thing he knew the muscles in his arms were bunching, strong forearms tensing under his kom’rke, as he tore clean down the middle. 

The omega’s breasts spilled forward, shining wet with all his leaked fluids, visibly swollen and tight with milk. 

“You told me this had stopped.” Jango gasped, ragged, finally looking up into Obi-Wan’s red face. His eyes glistened with humiliated tears, but he made no move to cover himself or push Jango away. 

“It hasn’t.” He sobbed. “I just didn’t want- didn’t want- I just needed some distance.” 

Jango growled. “Well, now look. Look at you .” Obi-Wan shuddered in his arms. “Boba isn’t here anymore.” 

Another sob. “I know.” 

Jango sighed. “You still can’t do it yourself?” When Obi-Wan shook his head, it freed a tear clinging to his eyelashes, and Jango felt it land, wet, against his hand, where he still grasped the torn pieces of bandage. 

“Fine then.” Pushing back from the wall, and the omega he had pinned there, he tugged the two sides of tunic in to cover those bared breasts, tangling them together in one hand and using that grip to tow Obi-Wan along behind him when he set off at pace toward the other end of the corridor. 

The omega made a noise of surprise at the somewhat ungentle treatment, but followed Jango’s hold on him passively enough. Jango’s first thought had been to go to his quarters, but realistically he couldn't let any verde catch him on the way there with Obi-Wan looking like this, so he slammed open the door of the first fresher he came to, locking the mechanism with a vicious thump of his fist. The display screen cracked, but the electronics beneath held. 

He stood for a moment, breathing raggedly at the sight in front of him; Obi-Wan leant back against the sink, lips parted around his own panting, and colour flushed high in his cheeks. The scraps of fabric sagged down around his waist without Jango’s hand to hold them all together, his wet breasts heaving with his breaths.

Jango took a step closer, and the omega didn’t cower, didn’t cringe back into the sink to be away from him; just tilted his head up to meet his gaze, letting him see how dark his eyes were. Reaching down, Jango gripped each of Obi-Wan’s thighs in his hands and hoisted him up onto the sink behind, stepping into the space that was made for him between them.

This close, Jango could see all the different flecks of colour in Obi-Wan’s eyes, could see the slight smattering of freckles across his face. His hands still rested on the omega’s thighs, the thin leggings doing nothing to disguise the heat rising from his skin. Jango rubbed a little with his palms, to see what Obi-Wan would do. He squirmed, deliciously, and had Jango not been in his beskar’gam, the inside of his leg would have been brushing the hard length of Jango’s cock. 

He pinned the omega still and bent his head, broadcasting his intent as clearly as he could. Obi-Wan gasped when his lips closed around the flushed, wet nipple of his left breast. He held a moment, ready to be denied, ready to go easily when he was, but the hand that eventually came up to grasp at his curls was pulling him in, not pushing him away. Letting the corners of his lips tip into a pleased smirk, he opened his mouth wider to take more of the breast inside, pressing in close enough that his nose was mashed to Obi-Wan’s breastbone, and finally, blessedly, began to suck. 

The groan that the omega made above him was guttural. Jango growled in return, sucking harder, trying to draw the flesh deeper, mindless with the sweet warmth that was filling his mouth in draws and spurts. Obi-Wan whimpered with the added pressure, but Jango wasn’t pushed away, no, he was only drawn closer . He shuffled on his feet until the toes of his boots hit the base of the sink, as close as he could get between the omega’s legs like this. But it still wasn’t close enough, so he firmed his grip on Obi-Wan’s thighs and dragged him closer to the edge of the sink until Jango’s ven’cabur was pressed up hard into the crux of his legs, making him tip his head back against the mirror behind and moan. 

Jango drained that breast quickly, reduced as Obi-Wan’s production was, and he didn’t even lift his head to move to the next, only mouthed ravenously across the omega’s damp skin until he felt the stiff peak of the nipple beneath his sensitive lips and sucked it into his mouth. Obi-Wan whimpered, a soft sound low in his throat, and his hips jerked, in an almost unconscious rhythm, to rub his crotch against the unforgiving beskar of Jango’s ven’cabur. 

It would have made sense for Jango to remove the piece, so that they could rut together and find pleasure in one another that way, but such thoughts seemed distant to him, too caught up in the suck-pull of his mouth around the omega’s teat and the continued burst of flavour spilling across his tongue and down his throat, and the kriffing scent of Obi-Wan under him, squirming with pleasure. 

When that breast had given up its bounty, he stayed pressed to the omega’s chest, not suckling, but mouthing and nuzzling around the tender nipple. Obi-Wan’s grasp on his hair, which had turned harsh while he drank, gentled to soft petting, his hips no longer working against Jango. He wasn’t sure if the omega had come, he’d been too far caught up in the act of drinking to really pay it any mind.  

He breathed softly for a moment longer, turning his head enough to watch how the gust of his breath across Obi-Wan’s nipple made the omega shudder, and gooseflesh break out on the surrounding breast. He didn’t want to break this calm, feeling the most at peace he had since they’d been parted from Boba, but as his instincts began to settle, as his raging pulse slowed, he became more aware of what he’d done. The mad urgency with which he’d been behaving, how roughly he’d handled Obi-Wan, the way he’d literally torn his clothes from him like some feral alpha. Kriff, that had been- that had been inappropriate. 

Jango raised his head finally from the omega’s breast. Obi-Wan was watching him with slightly dazed eyes and Jango cleared his throat, feeling unspeakably awkward. “Sorry.” He managed to rasp, and stepped back out of the vee of the omega’s spread legs. A quick, dangerous, glance down showed that the seam of his leggings was wet at the crux, which meant that - oh kriff - there would be slick on his ven’cabur as well. He was so hard that it was actually, physically, beginning to hurt. 

Obi-Wan seemed to sense that Jango’s brain was still barely back online, because he slid his thighs closed and carefully shuffled off the edge of the sink onto unsteady legs. “I should-”

“Yes.”

Obi-Wan nodded and pulled the two edges of his tunic closed around himself, gathering all the loose bandages up inside, and tying them. Jango had only barely moved back, so the omega had to sidle around him to reach the door, and Jango was aware of his own head turning to track the movement until Obi-Wan was prodding carefully at the shattered door controls and stepping out into the corridor when it slid open. He looked back over his shoulder at Jango, eyes flicking down to where he couldn’t see, but surely knew, that Jango was hard as beskar, and then raised a hand to use the Force to slide the door shut in his face. 

It took only seconds for Jango to have his ven’cabur off, and even less time to unfasten his kute and shove his hand inside. He made an unholy noise at the first touch of his hand on his cock, so hard he ached for relief. Drawing himself all the way out of the kute, he thrust a palm up to his mouth to lick over it, finding that his face was wet from being pressed against Obi-Wan’s milk-sticky chest and then - oh, Manda -  gathering that to use for slick as well. 

Wrapping that damp hand around his cock, he set a furious pace, too pent up, too desperate to come, to draw it out. It wasn’t wet enough, and it chafed a little, but he didn’t kriffing care, as he replayed the sounds the omega had made in his mind and breathed in great lungfuls of his fast-fading scent as he worked himself. It was almost embarrassing how quickly he approached the edge, the muscles of his stomach getting tight and clenched as he started to move his hips, fucking himself through the tight ring of his hand, thinking about the slick-soaked crotch of Obi-Wan’s leggings and imagining-

He sank his teeth into the flesh of his spare hand to muffle the cry as he came, wrist aching with the speed with which he brought his fist to meet his bucking hips, and spurted pearly spend over his knuckles, the sink, the floor; even his ven’cabur where he’d discarded it, the fluids of his sex and Obi-Wan’s mingling on the polished beskar. 

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan was relieved that Mij was absent when he got back the medbay, following his tense journey back through the corridors of the Mandalorian ship, his tunic wet and bulging unnaturally where the mess of bandages still clung to his waist. He was quite sure that none of the blood from his flush had left his face yet; the heat of it practically making him glow. 

He threw himself down to sit on his bed, and pressed the backs of his hands to his blazing cheeks. What the actual kriff just happened? 

He’d been coming back from the cargo bay, giddy with the fight and all the happiness that the Mandalorians were suffusing the Force with, feeling like a grin might be etched permanently into his face, when he’d rounded a corner and been seized in Fett’s rough grasp. He’d been confused at first; what the man was growling about, why he seemed so angry with Obi-Wan again, but when he got it, when he understood? Yeah, he’d been reckless. He knew how strongly he smelled of milk at the moment, and all it would have taken was for one verde to get close enough, or for Myles to grapple him without his scent-blocking helmet, then it would be out. Everyone would know what he’d done, and he burned with humiliation to even think that. 

And kriff, Myles had punched him in the chest and it had hurt so much, what if it had damaged him somehow? Was that a thing? Now that they were more sensitive? Force-damnit, why didn’t he pay more attention in health class as a Padawan. 

He shifted on the bed, aware also of how slick and sticky his leggings were from rutting against Fett’s armour as he’d been drained. Force, as he’d been drained. He’d let the alpha suckle from his breast, as he had done his babe, and it had been so, so different. It seemed blasphemous to even think of the act Fett had performed upon him as anything remotely similar to what he’d shared with Boba. He pressed a hand up to one breast, no longer sore, just tender in a way that made the ache between his legs intensify and made him clench his thighs together. Fett’s mouth had been on them, and Force, to even think of the obscenity of it, of how flush and slick his lips had become pressed around Obi-Wan’s nipples, and they way he’d touched Obi-Wan, tearing through the bandages with his bare hands, gripping his thighs in strong, broad palms, insinuating his hips between, like he couldn’t get close enough, like he wanted in -

Obi-Wan stood abruptly from the bed and paced three long strides to the privacy curtain, faltered, as he had no destination, and strode back, simply needing to move. He needed to- do something. Now. And stop thinking about the feel of Fett’s curls between his fingers and the sounds he’d made, little sub-vocal groans as he’d worked his teeth so carefully over his breast and-

Force- damnit . 

Dragging a hand through his hair, Obi-Wan cast about the room with his eyes. Mij had brought him a whole box of spare clothes when he’d first got here, though he’d not needed anything more than what was on his body, but now these things were wet and soiled with his and Fett’s depravity. He kicked the box out from under Mij’s work table and rifled through it. Nothing else so convenient as the cross-tie tunic but maybe, with any luck, he wouldn’t even need to express again. Maybe what Fett had sucked from him, like venom from a wound, would be the last of it. He pulled a pair of simple trousers and a sweater, soft enough not to aggravate his tender nipples, up into his arms and stormed toward the fresher. 

If he stayed a little too long in the shower, using three entire rations of the ship’s water, then it was Fett’s own damn fault. 

***

As he approached the domed city of Sundari, Qui-Gon reflected on the landscape visible through the viewport. Mandalore was bleak, he thought. It wasn’t any wonder that it had bred such a hard and uncompromising people; as hard and uncompromising as the land around them was. Seas of red sand, of dust really, stretched to either horizon, not a speck of verdancy to be found outside of the domes. It was almost as bad as space. 

Of course the conclusion of this journey had brought him back to Mandalore; his last few weeks had seemed to be nothing but a parade of ghosts, standing in familiar spaces made unfamiliar with time. Young and old Obi-Wan overlaying one another in his mind, like the afterimages behind his eyes following a flash of lightning. 

Force, it was about time to be getting back to the Temple if he was feeling this poetic . A crackle over the shuttle’s comms confirmed that he was clear to land, and a shuttle bay door slipped smoothly into itself to leave an opening for him to descend toward. 

They’d warned him already that Obi-Wan wasn’t there; that the Mand’alor’s son’s ship had not yet made it to Sundari. His fingers twitched against his knee, picking at a speck of something dried into the linen. He hadn’t put on clean clothes for a while now, too caught up following the trail. His former Padawan would likely scold him for his appearance. Qui-Gon smiled to himself. Obi-Wan had always been so neat, so clean, and so fondly exasperated with his scruffy, old Master. Force, but he loved that boy . He could feel him strongly now, warm in the back of his mind, the golden glow of his presence becoming stronger with every bit of distance that was eaten up between them. 

Of all people, he was met from his shuttle by Lady Satine Kryze. What had he been thinking earlier about ghosts from the past? He greeted her with a low bow, unbrushed hair swinging down past his ear as his head dipped. 

“Master Jinn.” The lady welcomed, inclining her elaborate, ice-blonde updo in enough of an approximation of a bow to be respectful. “Alor Fett should be arriving within the hour with Knight Kenobi. My father thought that it would be a fine time for us all to catch up, old friends as we are, so rooms have been made available for you both.”

Satine turned on her heel and began to stride with the same purposefulness she had when she was a teenager toward the waiting speeder. Qui-Gon had little choice but to follow along. “I thank you for the kindness, Lady Kryze, but I really would prefer to get Obi-Wan home sooner, rather than later. I’m sure he has had quite an ordeal and the journey to Coruscant is not a short one.”

She pinned him with a cold eye over her shoulder, stride not breaking for a moment. “I’m afraid I must insist. A dinner is planned to welcome the Ad’be’Mand’alor back from a successful hunt and Obi-Wan’s presence seems only appropriate. You’ll be leaving in the morning.” Qui-Gon gritted his teeth at her imperious tone, and said nothing. This situation was delicate, relations only very carefully balanced with the Mandalorians, so few years after the introduction of their treaty. He was sure Obi-Wan would appreciate an opportunity for a night out of a ship before they set off back to the Temple, and he’d always had a taste for the Mandalorian spicy foods that Qui-Gon hadn’t.

He was just afraid that the longer the Mandalorians delayed, the more likely they were to ask for something in return for the lost Jedi that had fallen into their grasp. 

***

Less than an hour out from Sundari and Obi-Wan was beginning to fidget. He was excited, but there was something else as well, something prowling around the edges of his consciousness. Something that didn’t want him to walk away from Jango. He’d found himself thinking more and more since their encounter about the story Mij had told him, about giving up everything he had known because the primal instincts within him had sat up and gone that’s the one. Was that what was happening now? Was this actually where his path was meant to take him? He tried to ask the Force, but it felt clouded and murky, and he could only see himself in it, standing above a precipice. About to fall, or about to step back? He just needed a little clarity.

“You alright, Ob’ika?” He jerked at Mij’s voice, and turned to find him standing close, a crease of concern bending his eyebrows. 

He considered the answer. “I don’t know.” 

“Hmm.” Mij said, and then stepped closer to wrap his arms around Obi-Wan’s shoulders. He sank into the embrace, pressing his face into the alpha’s chest, breathing in the scent of him, which had become homely and familiar in their time together. “Part of you doesn’t want to go.”

Obi-Wan sighed. The medic was always so perceptive. “I can’t tell what the Force is telling me to do. It isn’t clear.”

“Hmm.” Mij said again. “Well, I don’t know much about the Force, but I do know that when I’m making hard decisions, I need to listen to what my instincts are telling me.”

“I can’t tell what they’re telling me, either!” Obi-Wan complained, aggrieved. “And besides, it isn’t the Jedi way.”

The medic made a thoughtful sound. “Do you know what Alderaani customs around secondary gender are?” He asked, after a moment. 

“Instinctual behaviour in public is considered rude.” Obi-Wan replied, tilting his head back so that he could rest his chin on Mij’s chest plate and look up at him. 

“Yes, any expression of your gender should be confined to the home. No scenting in public, no purring, growling, and Manda forbid you bare your teeth.” Mij chuckled, reaching hand up to gently scritch through Obi-Wan’s hair. “That was how I grew up, confined to a gilded cage. And when Tani came into my life, biting, scratching, daring anyone to confine her, I felt as if my eyes were open for the first time.” 

Obi-Wan considered this. “A good friend of mine is Alderaani, I don’t believe he’s ever felt confined. Those behaviours can be so-” Obi-Wan thought of Fett’s actions just the day before, of his own desperate rutting, “- uncivilised. Isn’t it better to keep it private?”

Mij tilted his own chin down to peer at Obi-Wan, his eyes kind. “Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe the Alderaani way is the right way for him. It wasn’t for me, even though it was all I’d ever known up until that point.” The hand in Obi-Wan’s hair smoothed behind his ear, tucking away stray strands. “Maybe it’s time for you to think about whether the Jedi way is the right way for you . Everyone’s path is different. You believe that the Force guides you, don’t you? That everything happens for a reason?”

Obi-Wan swallowed. “To a certain extent.”

“Then the Force brought you here, to us. It brought you to Boba and the decision to take out your implant. Perhaps it wanted you to experience what it was like to have unsuppressed instincts.” Mij’s mouth quirked cheekily. “Uncivilised behaviours and all.” 

Obi-Wan considered this, and found he had no response. Truly, why had the Force brought him here? Why would it have brought him into Fett’s orbit if it didn’t want him to feel such things? Was it a test? Every culture that had a story of Creation, spoke of temptations that their Creator would put in their path to test their faith. Was that what this was? 

“Just think about it, Ob’ika. I’ll give you a few moments. I want a cup of shig before we land; the Sundari blends are osik.” Mij cupped a gentle hand around the back of his neck, scenting and soothing him, then scooped his helmet into one hand and made for the door. 

Once he was alone, Obi-Wan sank down onto Mij’s hover stool, unable to get the thought out of his head. Was it too fanciful to think that his life was important enough for the Force to meddle? Could it have brought him here for a reason? But for what? Not for Boba; the boy already had a father who loved and cared for him unconditionally and, young as he was, ‘Obi’ would pass from his memory soon enough. For Fett? But that made no sense, the man seemed near-constantly furious with his presence and any feelings between them were surely caused by the hormonal confusion wrought by Obi-Wan’s actions. Fett didn’t need, or want, him. As soon as Obi-Wan was out of his sight, out of scenting distance, Fett would dismiss him as nothing more than that strange omega who was imprisoned with his son. 

No, he would return to the Jedi. This, all of this, was simply a lesson of some kind. He would meditate on it once he was home and, with time, it would all make sense. 

Obi-Wan stood and straightened the sweater a little across his chest, trying to make the swell beneath it less obvious. He turned smartly on his heel toward the medbay door, only to jolt to a stop when he saw the figure in the doorway. 

“Alor Fett.” He said in surprise. The alpha’s body was encased, as it always seemed to be, in beskar, his helmet tucked under one arm. This was the first time that Obi-Wan had seen the man since their - encounter - in the fresher, and he felt his heart rate tick up in his chest in anticipation. 

“Obi-Wan.” Fett returned, his eyebrows drawn down seriously over his eyes. “We’ll be starting our descent into Sundari shortly.”

“Ah, thank you.” Obi-Wan smiled, a quick, tight upturn of the corners of his lips, which the alpha did not return, continuing to stare at Obi-Wan with burning intensity in his eyes. Obi-Wan shifted a little on his feet, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. “Was there something else?” He finally asked.  

A muscle ticked in Fett’s jaw, and he finally looked away, gaze drifting around the medbay. He took a cautious step further into the room, and then another, more decisive, one. “May I sit?” He gestured a little vaguely with his helmet toward the bed in the bay next to Obi-Wan’s. With the privacy curtain open, there were just a few paces between the two. 

“Of course.” Obi-Wan took a step backwards so that the alpha would not brush against him as he moved to sit, though he felt his ears heat at the way Fett’s gaze dragged over his body as he passed. He placed his helmet carefully onto the crisp, white top sheet, and then settled himself beside it, the frame creaking just a little under the weight of a full set of beskar armour. When Fett gestured slightly toward Obi-Wan’s own bed, he took that as his own cue to sit, settling himself atop the sloppily remade covers, suddenly ashamed he that hadn’t smoothed the corners to Temple standard neatness this morning. 

Obi-Wan clasped his hands carefully in his lap, before looking up to meet Fett’s eyes. He was staring intensely again, and the crease of a frown between his brows only seemed to have become more severe. “I think I need to address my behaviour toward you during your time on this ship.” 

Well, that was not what he’d expected. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure how to respond and he merely blinked at the alpha for a moment. “Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary-”

“It is.” Fett cut in, tone sharp enough that Obi-Wan sat up a little straighter, not quite a flinch. The alpha winced anyway, and gentled his voice. “I don’t want you to think that this is how Mandalorians - how I - behave.” He blew out a sigh, and finally looked away from Obi-Wan. “I’ve been acting like a total knothead, honestly.”

This surprised a laugh out of Obi-Wan, and Fett glanced back at him out of the corner of his eye, something pleased showing in his expression. “Our instincts have been confused, I understand. If I hadn’t nursed Boba, this never would have-”

Fett faced him again so fast Obi-Wan was afraid he’d hurt his neck, face serious once more. “If you hadn’t nursed my ad he might be dead. So. Don’t take it back, okay? Just don’t.” 

Obi-Wan swallowed hard. “Okay.”

Fett took a deep breath, and his hands came up to grasp at his own knees in an uncharacteristic display of nervousness. Obi-Wan noted absently that they were bare and he could see a scattering of white scars across his tan knuckles. “The way I grabbed you the other day was- wrong. I shouldn’t have put my hands on you like that.” The alpha’s hands clenched on his legs. “It’s just knowing what you did. Seeing it . It’s been hard to shake the idea that it makes you…”

“Yours.” Obi-Wan whispered, and the look in Fett’s eyes made it feel like he had been stripped completely bare.  

“Yes.” The alpha hissed. He didn’t look particularly happy about it and Obi-Wan swallowed a burst of sour disappointment.  

“I’ve- I’ve felt that too.” He confessed, twisting his fingers together in his lap. “From the moment you stepped into that cell, you smelled so much like the babe I had at my breast and it was like my body just went, oh, that’s my alpha.”

Fett’s breath caught audibly in his throat. 

Obi-Wan winced. “I’m sorry.”

Fett shook his head. “No. No apologies.” His voice was rougher than Obi-Wan had ever heard it and he had to contain a shiver at the sound.

“I don’t really know what I’m doing with all these instincts. They’re so new and strange to me.” His words were met with silence for a moment, but Obi-Wan sensed that it was contemplative rather than dismissive. 

“Mandalorians-” Fett started, reaching up to run a tense hand through his curls. “We don’t suppress that side of us the way Jetiise do, so I can’t really- I can imagine that it’s overwhelming.”

“I’ve never felt so out of control.” Obi-Wan was surprised momentarily about how breathy his voice sounded, and how frank he’d just been.  

Fett returned with his own frankness. “Me neither. You’ve been making me a little- crazy.”

The rush of pleasure that tingled through Obi-Wan’s body was utterly un-Jedilike. He shouldn’t be pleased that the alpha was so riled up because of him. Once he was back in the Temple and able to focus well enough to meditate, he would have to examine that response closely. 

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself.” Fett scoffed, but the lines in his forehead had smoothed and his lips tilted in a way that spoke of entertainment. The vambrace on his left arm beeped, and the alpha raised it to tap against a few times. “Your Jetii has arrived. They’ll meet us at the Kryze clan’s veh’yaim.”

Obi-Wan felt a smile break over his face. “Yes, I can feel him.” That throbbing warmth in the back of his mind had been getting closer and warmer all morning. He was practically able to reach out and touch Qui-Gon’s force presence now, so little distance remained between them. 

Fett’s eyes dropped to trace his grin. “Someone you know?”

“My old Master, Qui-Gon Jinn.”

“Ah.” The alpha replied. “He was the one that was searching for you. Jaster thinks he was only a day or two behind us when we raided the pirate stronghold.”

Obi-Wan felt a stab of gratitude for his old Master, quickly followed by regret that he would have had to return to Telos IV to pick up his trail, knowing what memories awaited the man there. 

“Why didn’t they just pay the ransom?” Fett asked, breaking through his contemplation. “I’d have paid anything for Boba if they hadn’t been so stupid as to lead us right to him.”

Obi-Wan stared at him, and realised quite suddenly that Fett had been raised, for most of his life at least, as the child of an absolute ruler. As a prince, by the standards of any other culture. He was wealthy. “The Senate controls the Order’s funds. It would have been debated on the floor, cuts proposed elsewhere to compensate. I’m sure I’ll find out the outcome when I get home.” He let himself smile a little cheekily. “They may even have finished debating it by then.” 

Fett didn’t laugh at his joke. His brows were drawn down again and when he spoke he sounded bewildered. “Why? Why go back there when they treat you like your life isn’t worth something?” The alpha leant forward with sudden intensity. “It is, Obi-Wan.”

That was an easy one. “Because they’re my family, alor.” He spread his hands in a shrug. “However the Senate treats us, whatever controls they have, Qui-Gon has raised me since I was 12 years old.  And he hasn’t always got it right, hasn’t always known what was best for me, but he’s always tried and he’s always loved me.” He looked pointedly at Fett across from him. “Just like any other parent in the galaxy.”

“And you love him.” The alpha looked no less intense, but there was understanding there, as well.

“Very much.” Obi-Wan supposed that if there was one thing a Mandalorian could understand, it was love of his people, of his parent. “Just as I love my Grandmaster and my brother Padawan and my crèchemates and every single one of the younglings. I even love the sour old masters on the council.” Fett wheezed a chuckle, his eyes turning fond. “The Jedi are my people.”

The alpha hung his head for a moment. “I understand.” 

Obi-Wan let the quiet stretch, watching Fett’s armoured shoulder rise and fall with each slow breath. “Can I ask you something, alor?”

His head popped back up, dark hair curling over his forehead. “Anything.” 

Obi-Wan swallowed. “Boba’s other buir. You mentioned she-”

“Yes.” 

“Then, nu kyr’adyc, shi taab’echaaj’la.”

The corner of Fett’s mouth lifted. “Nu kyr’adyc, shi taab’echaaj’la.” He repeated with reverence. “Thank you.” He tilted his head a little to the side. “She wasn’t my riduur.”

“Oh?”

“She was a beroya. She’d been born into a clan, but when the time came she didn’t want to swear the resol’nare. She said her life was her own.” The alpha shrugged a little helplessly. “We had fun. We didn’t mean for her to fall pregnant.” 

“Ah.” Obi-Wan said. “I see.”

“She was a beta, we didn’t think- so we weren’t careful enough-” Fett continued, awkwardly, and Obi-Wan felt a flush on his neck.

“Really, there’s no need.” He got out a little strangled and Fett cleared his throat. 

“Right.” 

“What a gift, though.” Obi-Wan said after a few moments. 

A grin split across that tan face, revealing dimples that so closely matched his son’s that Obi-Wan could have wept. “He is.” 

Obi-Wan took a breath and let it out slowly. “I miss him.”

Fett made a noise of agreement. “You feel as though he is yours.”

“I can’t help it.” Obi-Wan swallowed, hoping the alpha would understand. “I nursed him.”

Fett’s eyes flicked lightning quick down to his chest and back up. He felt his face begin to heat, sure he was going splotchy with the red of his blush. 

Fett cleared his throat. Twice. “Is it- are you in discomfort?”

Obi-Wan considered. “I am- aware of it. But I am not in pain.” 

The alpha’s gaze was dark, and heavy. “Come here.”

Obi-Wan faltered, mouth popping open in surprise. Fett raised a hand towards him, palm up, beckoning, to receive him. 

“Let me help you, Obi-Wan. Come here.”

He stood, swaying a little on his feet, then took one cautious step toward the other bed, Fett’s presence like a tractor beam. 

When he spoke again, the man’s voice was gruff. “I will be gentle this time.”

Obi-Wan took another step, his borrowed boots scuffing on the floor. “You were gentle.” 

“I was not.”

One final step took him within reach of the alpha, and hands grasped at the hem of sweater, dragging him closer, within the cage of Fett’s spread legs, his knees against the outsides of Obi-Wan’s thighs. 

“I was angry.” Fett said, hands slipping beneath the fabric to smooth over his stomach, a little more concave than it had been before he was kidnapped. A little more soft too, without the rigours of Jedi combat training. 

“Yes.”

Blaster-rough hands swept upwards, his sweater pushed along with them until it slipped up over the swells of his breasts, nipples hardening quickly between the cooler air of the medbay and the heat of Fett’s gaze. “I was rough with you.” 

“Yes.” Obi-Wan was appalled by how breathless his voice had become, practically a whine in his throat. 

The alpha’s hands firmed upon his skin, pressing insistently into his pale flesh. “You liked it.”

“Alor-”

“Kriffing call me Jango.” Fett - Jango’s - head dipped and Obi-Wan had just a split-second to prepare before the shock of his hot mouth closed around one stiff nipple. He gasped aloud, one hand flying up to hold his sweater against his collarbones so that it wouldn’t fall, and the other burying itself once again into the dense curls at the back of the alpha’s head. 

The first suck was a revelation. Last time, that frantic, milk-and-sweat slick time in the fresher, he’d been in so much pain that the relief and the pleasure had been sharp-edged, almost pain in their own right. Now, this time, being drained before it had a chance to become painful, was euphoria. He moaned, the sparks flying out from every point of contact the alpha had with his oversensitized skin, near overwhelming. Jango groaned in response, and opened his mouth wider to take more. With more than half of Obi-Wan’s breast in his mouth, likely barely able to breathe, he fitted his teeth to the supple flesh and began to press down. The noise Obi-Wan made was gutted, and he’d be embarrassed about it later. His alpha’s teeth were-

Jango drew back; a slick line of spit connecting his swollen lips to Obi-Wan’s nipple. He inspected the bit mark he’d left behind, a perfect ring, with obvious satisfaction, before ducking in to take the other into his mouth. Obi-Wan was producing so little now, barely a couple of mouthfuls really, but he set to sucking it out of him anyway, moaning as his hands grasped even tighter around Obi-Wan’s waist, squeezing with greedy propriety. 

Once he was empty, Jango switched back to the first, the one with the bitemark, and drew the nipple back inside. With no more milk to give up, the act was pure pleasure. You couldn’t dress this up as assistance, this was just simple desire. The alpha’s tongue toyed with the sensitive nub and Obi-Wan felt his knees grow weak, releasing the handful of hair to grab at one beskar-clad shoulder, bowing his head until his ear was practically level with where Jango sucked at him and Force the sounds were obscene-

Jango's breaths huffed out of his nose in harsh pants, gusting against his skin. He needed to put a stop to this, it had gone far enough, too far , even. He used his grip on that shoulder to push the man back, who went easily, panting open mouthed now that he could. He looked up and his eyes were nearly black. 

“We need to stop.” Obi-Wan gasped. “We shouldn't be doing this.”

Jango stared at him, then swallowed a couple of times, carefully. He nodded. They still took another moment to just breathe one another in, scents dark and rich with mating pheromones, before the alpha reached up to tug Obi-Wan’s sweater back into place. He straightened, stepping back to give Jango space. With a final meaningful look at Obi-Wan, he clutched up his helmet and jammed it down over his head. He stood, looking as formidable as he had back in that cell, the only other time Obi-Wan had seen him in full armour. 

“I’ll see you when we land.” The crackle of the vocoder was impersonal, and Obi-Wan swallowed at how much he already missed the man’s voice. He inclined his head in a respectful bow, keeping the pose until Jango had stepped around him, making for the medbay door with brisk strides. He held it even as he heard the doors swish open, then closed, and squeezed his eyes shut, fighting down the urge to call his alpha back. Fighting down the all-consuming swell of yearning . 

***

Jango was about ready to peel his skin off. Every instinct inside him, every scrap of alpha he had, was growling and snapping at the thought of his omega leaving him. Especially now that Jango has had Obi-Wan beneath his mouth, not once, but twice. Kark, he’d put his teeth to him. The image of that bite mark, standing out livid against the pale tissue, would likely haunt him for the rest of his miserable life. 

Myles was staring at him. Myles’ buy’ce was on, but Jango could still tell that he was staring at him. He’d known the other man for so long that it was like an extra sense, and it made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. He kept his own buy’ce firmly in place, and didn’t acknowledge the stare. 

The Legacy jolted with her deceleration as they descended toward the dome. Jango hated the domed cities himself, always feeling somehow cut off from the soul of the planet. He wondered if the Manda couldn't reach within the durasteel walls and that was why the Kryze’s and their ilk were so damn troublesome. ‘New Mandalorians’. If he wasn’t standing on his own ship, and wearing a buy’ce, he’d have spat on the ground. If your ideals went counter to everything that Mandalorian’s stood for, then how could you dare to call yourself a Mandalorian? Fortunately, the old Duke still had some sense and when Jaster had put Kyr’tsad down like the hut’uunla terrorist demagolkase they were, he’d brought his people in line. 

Jaster had decreed that it was okay if they didn’t want to fight, and wore minimal armour. It took all types to form a society and not everyone could be verde; baar’ure and baj’hib’ure and any other number of jobs needed to be done as well. But don’t try to take from others, just because you don’t want it. Don’t try to take the armour, and the defence and the language. If Adonai hadn’t reined in his eldest Satine, dar’manda as far as Jango was concerned, the New Mandalorian movement might have become a real threat to their way of life. 

There was another jolt, and a deep, clanking thud as the ship settled into the hangar bay. Jango took a breath and turned his head to watch Obi-Wan where he stood beside Mij. He was practically vibrating with excitement, a flush high in his cheeks. Jango understood, now that he’d spoken with the omega, that the bond between a Jetii and their baj’hib’ur was much more profound than he’d assumed; that this Qui-Gon Jinn was a buir to Obi-Wan. With a series of clanks, and a great mechanical whirring, the loading ramp began to lower. 

The first thing Jango saw was the di’kutla Kryze herself, Satine. She wasn’t wearing beskar’gam, of course; her only concession to the resol’nare a kom’rk on one wrist. He growled a little behind his buy’ce. Vhonte, next to him, knocked an elbow into his side. They’d be having words about the cheek of that later. The next thing he saw was the enormous humanoid, who was, presuming by the rumpled and slightly stained Jetii robes, Obi-Wan’s buir. 

The omega gasped, and before Mij could get an arm out to stop him, he was rushing down the ramp toward the tall individual, who without hesitation, opened his arms to reveal an impressive wingspan, and enfolded Obi-Wan into a hug, bowing to press his head full of long, scraggly hair to the crown of the omega’s. 

Jango felt a clench in his gut. He wasn’t sure if it was a desire to be hugging his own buir, who he had only seen via holo for months, or if it was a desire to be the one holding Obi-Wan so closely. He shook off the sensation, and started down the ramp himself, trusting his verde to follow. 

“Alor Fett.” Satine greeted, tone frosty as Hoth. 

“Lady Kryze.” He returned, just as coldly, in basic for the benefit of the Jetii and Satine herself who had never learnt Mando’a well enough after she came back from school in the Core. 

“I hope your journey has not been too arduous. We were glad to hear that your son is safe.” That was the royal We, Jango supposed, fuming at the airs and graces the dar’manda gave herself. Jaster was far more tolerant than he, to let the Kryze’s sit up here in the seat of Kalevela, playing at being dignitaries. 

“Thank you.” He said stiffly. Satine looked at him like she expected him to say more. He didn’t. 

“May I introduce Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn.” She gestured to where Obi-Wan and the tall human had finished their embrace and instead stood with their brows touching in a gentle mirshmure’cya. 

Jinn raised his head from Obi-Wan’s and dipped it in a respectful bow. “Thank you for delivering my Padawan, Alor Fett. I cannot adequately express my relief at seeing him so well. The Jedi Order owes you a debt.” 

“N’entye.” He snapped. “No debt. It is I who owes Obi-Wan.” Jinn’s eyebrows rose and he turned an inquiring eye to the omega, still held loosely in the circle of his arms. 

“N’entye, alor.” Obi-Wan murmured, turning red again. Jango briefly pondered what a curse it must be to have skin so pale that it showed your every emotion like that, and worse, having it all out in the open for anyone to see, not hidden behind beskar. 

“I owe you the life of my ad, Obi-Wan. If you do not accept, then you devalue Boba’s place in my life. You devalue Boba’s life.” It was a low blow, Jango could admit to that. Obi-Wan grit his teeth, but inclined his head in a stiff nod of acceptance. 

“Well.” Satine said, after a moment of awkward silence had descended upon the group. “I’m afraid my father is not currently in Sundari, but we have arranged for dinner to honour the visit of the Ad’be’Mand’alor. Rooms have been put aside for Alor Fett and the Jetii.” She sent an assessing look down her nose at the assembled verde. “Your warriors will need to either find lodgings in the city or bunk down on your ship, I’m afraid.” 

Jango bared his teeth, hidden even as it was, at the mild insult. But they’d endured worse, and likely the verde would appreciate being able to go out into the city rather than sitting through the dinner and then being confined to the Kryze veh’yaim. Still, though- “My second, Myles, will need to stay close to me. I’m sure it won’t be an imposition to accommodate just one more.”

Satine’s smile was tight-lipped, and far from polite. “Of course, alor.” 

***

Holding Obi-Wan in his arms once more was a kindness from the Force that Qui-Gon wasn’t quite sure he deserved. The young man was a little thin, and he seemed drawn and stressed, but he was otherwise himself and alive and here. And had apparently managed to incur some kind of life debt from the future ruler of Mandalore by saving the man’s child. His former Padawan would never cease to amaze him. 

They’d been granted a few hours before dinner to reacquaint themselves, so Qui-Gon ushered Obi-Wan gently toward the rooms they’d been assigned, conveniently side-by-side. “I brought some tunics for you, dear one. I assumed yours would not be salvageable.” He led the way into his own room, and busied himself with the small chest he’d lugged halfway around the galaxy. Mace had given him a bit of a look when he’d departed with it, perhaps not thinking that clean robes were critical to a rescue mission, but Mace did not know Obi-Wan as well as he did. He did not understand how much being neat and tidy would help him. 

He withdrew some leggings, an under tunic and tabards, all in that soft, beige cotton his former Padawan favoured. “I haven’t boots I’m afraid, but those you have will do for the journey.” He turned back to Obi-Wan, to find his face red and crumpled. 

“Obi-Wan.” He murmured, placing his armful on the small, functional table near the door. “Oh, Padawan, what is it?” 

“I do not deserve to wear them, Master.” He sniffled, and brought his hands up to cover his face. 

“Why would you say such a thing? Of course you deserve them. You might deserve them more than any other Jedi I know, my wise, brave apprentice.” This only made Obi-Wan sob harder, so Qui-Gon swiftly gathered him back up into his arms like he was a youngling. “Hush, dear one, hush. What’s happened?” 

“I took out my implant.” Qui-Gon’s breath stuttered in his chest. Force, was his Padawan leaving the Order?  

“Okay.” He replied carefully. “Can you tell me why?”

Obi-Wan sniffed wetly, probably getting snot on Qui-Gon’s tabards. Not that he minded, he’d gotten far worse on them himself. “I was locked up with a youngling, Master, just a baby really and they wouldn’t bring us the right food, and I could eat the ration bars but he couldn’t and I couldn’t just do nothing. ”

“Padawan. Dear one, I’m not sure what you’re saying?” 

“I took my implant out, hoping that I could nurse the babe. And I could.” Force, no wonder Obi-Wan was upset. With his implant out, his omega side would no longer be suppressed and all those instincts that he barely understood would be at the surface, and then on top of that he’d created a bond with a child by nursing it, and then he’d had to leave that child. 

“Oh, Obi-Wan. You did the right thing.” He leant back to cup his Padawan’s beloved face between his palms. “No one could fault you for saving the life of a child.” Obi-Wan sniffed, then nodded slowly. “Now, about these robes. Let’s get you looking like yourself again, hmm?” 

“Even though I don’t have a new implant yet?” He asked, tremulous. Qui-Gon felt his shoulders relax a little in relief that it sounded like his former Padawan at least intended to get a new one. 

“Even though.” 

Once Obi-Wan had disappeared into the fresher, Qui-Gon sank onto the bed and ran a tired hand through his hair. It felt distinctly greasy, and he wondered when he’d last stopped to wash. Not that recently, if he had to think about it. The sonic on his shuttle had been fritzing so he’d just given up with it. He probably ought to avail himself of the fresher here once his former Padawan was done with it. 

Obi-Wan appeared minutes later, looking much more like himself. The boots weren’t quite long enough to be considered in the Jedi style, and the belt Qui-Gon had to offer was his old one, which was scuffed and worn with age, but the line of the tunics and tabards sat in their perfect layers, as neat as the young man ever was. If Qui-Gon detected a slight swell in his upper chest that hadn't been there before, he didn’t comment on it. 

“Well, that’s better.” He smiled, rising to his feet. Obi-Wan gave him a shy smile.

“Thank you, Master.” 

“You’re welcome, Padawan. Now, I have something else for you as well.” Reaching beneath his own robe, he carefully unclipped and withdrew Obi-Wan’s lightsaber. The young man gasped to see it, and stepped forward, almost involuntarily. 

“I thought I’d never see it again.” Obi-Wan took the durasteel hilt into his hand with reverence. 

“Your lightsaber is your life, Padawan.” Qui-Gon told him, receiving an unimpressed look for how often he’d told him that during their apprenticeship. “Because it is your life, your kyber told me that you still lived, even though I couldn’t feel you. As long as I had your lightsaber, and it sang in my hand, I had hope.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan breathed, and then threw himself at Qui-Gon. He caught him in his long arms with a laugh. After a moment of simply breathing one another in, Qui-Gon pressed a quick kiss into that mop of red hair and drew back. 

“Right, I’d better use that fresher myself, lest I be ejected from Satine’s fancy dinner for too much resembling a Kowakian monkey-lizard.” This startled a laugh out of the young man, and he cast an appraising eye over Qui-Gon. 

“You are looking especially monkey-ish, my old Master.”

“As ever, dear one, you flatter me.” Qui-Gon sailed past, with his head high, letting the sensation of Obi-Wan’s happiness in the Force fill his chest, golden and wonderful. 

***

Obi-Wan couldn’t describe how it felt to hold his ‘saber in his hand once more. He was sure it had been sold, or simply left behind on that Force-damned moon. His kyber greeted him with warmth and comfort and he could have wept for hearing its song once more. 

It felt almost as good to be back in his robes, and he was deeply touched that his Master had thought to bring them for him. And they were his, even if they fit a little differently than they used to with his changed body-shape. His old Master must have taken them from his quarters before he left to look for him. After Qui-Gon had washed up, taming the gundark nest he called hair at least a little, he’d recounted for Obi-Wan his trek around the Kwymar sector, and his heart had grown fuller and fuller at the dedication with which his Master had searched for him. 

Qui-Gon had been visibly relieved to hear that the Mandalorians had treated him well, and Obi-Wan suspected that he’d thought they might have tried to ransom him back to the Order themselves. He tried not to let his hackles go up at the implied insult to Jango’s honour, knowing that his old Master had spent more of his life at war with the Mandalorians, before the treaty, and as much as he respected Mand’alor Mereel, feared that they’d slip into being ancient adversaries once more. 

Shortly after that, a young serving girl came to fetch them for dinner and they allowed themselves to be led through the impressive corridors of the Kryze residence. Obi-Wan hesitated to call it a palace, given that palaces were for rulers, which the Kryze’s were not , but he had also been in less grand buildings that actually called themselves palaces in his life. The dinner, of course, turned out to be more of a feast, and Obi-Wan felt his stomach turn a little at the array of rich and fatty foods. He’d still been struggling a little with flavour and richness after subsisting on just the bland ration bars for so long, but Mij had been helping him to diversify. 

The Mandalorian in question caught his eye, buy’ce politely perched on his hip, and inclined a head that offered company at the table. Snagging Qui-Gon’s sleeve, he dragged his bemused Master over to sit with the medic. Satine made a noise of complaint, presumably having some carefully preordained seating plan, but was forced to bite her tongue when Jango simply yanked out the chair opposite Mij and sat down, Myles taking the one beside him, and therefore opposite Obi-Wan. The pantoran winked, so he grinned at him. Satine huffed, but eventually settled herself beside Myles and opposite Qui-Gon, apparently not bold enough to take the place set at the head of the table that was, presumably, meant for Jango. 

A serving girl quickly stepped up to rearrange the plate settings to accommodate, and then the Mandalorians dug in. There was no particular ceremony at mealtimes for Mandalorians; no words of grace like the Alderaani, or waiting for the most important attendee to be served like on Chandrila. They were so often on the move that they ate what they could, when they could. Obi-Wan stared, a little overwhelmed, at the array of food, but before he could say anything, Mij had picked up his plate and began to load it up with a few small portions. Qui-Gon watched with interest, but made no comment. When the medic returned the plate to Obi-Wan’s setting, there were a few heaps of mild looking foods; nothing too vibrantly coloured with spices. The last time he’d been on Mandalore, he’d adored the spicy food, savouring the noseburn that the Mandalorians called hetikles, but he knew better than to test his delicate stomach right now. 

As Mij leaned over to fill his own plate now, a much more colourful array, Qui-Gon followed suit with his usual gusto. Obi-Wan truly thought his Master might be part sarlac, given the things he’d seen him eat across his apprenticeship. 

“I feel as if I know your face, friend.” Qui-Gon said as Mij sat back, picking up a utensil to start shovelling something as orange as the Tatooine sun into his mouth. Mij grunted around his mouthful. 

“Master, this is Bar’uur Mij Gilamar. He was among Mand’alor Mereel’s attachés when we were on Mandalore the first time.” Obi-Wan introduced, ripping a bite size piece from his flatbread. 

“Yes, of course!” Qui-Gon nodded, putting what appeared to be an entire deep fried roach into his mouth and chewing determinedly. Obi-Wan did his best not to flinch at the crunches. “You fixed my ambitious, young Padawan’s arm after he’d gotten his ass kicked by fully armoured Mandalorians.” The last sounded very fond, and Obi-Wan only just resisted sticking his tongue out. He crammed another piece of flatbread in instead. 

“I heard he fought well that day.” Jango cut in, brows serious. “He brought honour to the Jedi.”

Obi-Wan’s breath caught a little in his throat. He hadn’t known Jango knew about that. Qui-Gon inclined his head politely. “He did, alor Fett. I am just teasing him, as is my prerogative as his decrepit, old Master.” The corner of Jango’s mouth ticked up at that, and Obi-Wan wondered if he was thinking of his own family and whether they teased him. He wondered what there was to tease about someone like Jango Fett, who seemed so competent and fair with those he led and endlessly compassionate to his son, and so Force-damned handsome as well. Jango caught his eye across the table, quirking a brow, and Obi-Wan realised that he’d been staring for a while. He wrenched his attention back to his food. 

“It’s good to see you looking so well, Obi-Wan.” Satine started, picking delicately through some vegetables on her plate. “When I heard how long you’d been missing, I have to say I expected the worst. But you’re just as pretty as you ever were.” Obi-Wan looked at Satine so quickly in surprise that he almost missed the way Jango stiffened, his hand tightening around his spoon to the point that Obi-Wan actually feared for the metal. Hopefully it was beskar and would stand up to his grip. 

“I wasn’t aware you and Knight Kenobi were acquainted.” He bit out stiffly and Obi-Wan boggled at him a little. He’d never heard the alpha call him Knight Kenobi before; he wouldn't have thought the man even knew his rank.

“Oh, yes.” Satine answered breezily, although Obi-Wan was sure she was quite aware of the tension at the table. “We became, well, very close when he and Master Jinn were here before.” There was the sharp clank of beskar on beskar when Myles’ hand clamped down around Jango wrist, vambrace to vambrace, preventing him from- 

Well, it was hard to say what exactly. Going for a weapon? Throttling Satine with his bare hands? He certainly looked like he wanted to. Obi-Wan cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Lady Kryze was good enough to show me around Sundari when Mand’alor Mereel came for the allegiance swearing. That was really all there was to it.” Jango ground his teeth, but settled back into his chair and Myles apparently felt safe enough to go back to his own food. 

Obi-Wan had to confess to having had a small crush on Satine when he was a teenager, which he’d been pretty sure she had returned, but it had been very short lived, the difference in their politics quite untenable. And seeing her again now, he could objectively say she’d grown even more beautiful, in that cold, untouchable way she had, but she had also become an alpha since then and he did not find her scent comforting at all. Hearing her call him pretty had given him none of the flush of satisfaction he got when Jango complimented him. 

And Jango was still evidently caught up in the confusion of instincts between them and felt protective of Obi-Wan. Since nothing had happened between him and Satine, it hurt no one to reassure him. Satine gave him a funny look, but made no further comment. Perhaps she recognised that antagonising Jango wasn’t the smartest course of action. 

The group made polite small talk through another two courses, although Jango didn’t say a single word to Satine, choosing instead to vacillate between frowning down into his food and leaping into conversation to defend any number of imagined slights against Obi-Wan. By the time dessert was served, Obi-Wan knew he was flushed bright red, Mij and Myles were caught between amusement and exasperation, and Satine looked murderous. Qui-Gon had gone quieter and quieter the longer it had gone on for, and simply began to study Jango with interest. 

Deciding that his stomach wouldn’t be able to handle the creamy desserts on offer, Obi-Wan politely excused himself, citing tiredness and his slow recovery of his strength. Once out in the corridor, he let out a tense breath, and leaned his head back against the wall. After a moment, the doors to the dining room opened, and he flinched upright, fearing that it would be Satine to interrogate him on Jango’s strange behaviour, or worse, Jango himself, come to make his feelings go all liquid again and confuse his instincts. He was relieved to see it was neither when Mij stepped through, and slumped back down again. 

“You alright, ad’ika? That was getting a little intense.” 

Obi-Wan laughed softly. “A little.”

Mij walked closer until he could lean against the wall next to him, tipping his head back as Obi-Wan had. “Seems like alor Fett might have lost his mind.” 

Obi-Wan laughed in surprise, rolling his head languorously against the wall until he was looking at Mij. “I think he and I both have.” The medic quirked an eyebrow in question. “Things got a little… close on the ship. What I did, nursing Boba, it has our instincts all confused. He feels like I’m- well, he feels like I’m his omega.” 

Mij hmm’d. “And what do you feel?”

“Like he’s my alpha.” Obi-Wan sighed. 

“Well, there’s a pickle.” This pushed a laugh from Obi-Wan lungs and he nodded vigorously against the wall. “The situation you two have found yourselves in is pretty unprecedented, but I wouldn’t say that instincts being confused accounts for all of his behaviour. In there and on the ship.” Mij told him, and reached over to take Obi-Wan’s hand. “Has he asked you to stay?”

Obi-Wan swallowed. “Not- not in so many words.”

Mij let out a breath. “But you know he wants you to, right?” 

“I think I do. But I can’t trust that it’s really what he wants. When we’re not near each other anymore and we stop getting so confused by our mess of hormones, he might realise he didn’t really want me to be his omega.”

“But you choosing whether to stay or not, it’s not all about him Ob’ika. The Force brought you here, remember. That must mean something.” Mij pushed away from the wall to round Obi-Wan’s body, so that they could stand face to face.“If you’re afraid that you won’t be welcome if you stay, I can tell you that isn’t true. And even if my alor can’t get his head out of his shebs, you’ll be welcome in my aliit.” He reached up and smoothed a hand over Obi-Wan’s hair and drew him into a warm hug, like many he’d given Obi-Wan aboard the ship. Obi-Wan let himself be dragged into the alpha’s beskar chestplate with a contented noise. 

He rested there a moment, breathing in the comforting scent of the medic, until Mij spoke again.  “Obi-Wan Kenobi. Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad.” 

Obi-Wan pulled back and spluttered. “You can’t just- I’m an adult!”

Mij shrugged, unrepentant. “Don’t care. Now you don’t need to worry about whether you’d be welcome on Manda’yaim, or whether you belong here. You only need to worry about whether you want to be here.”

Obi-Wan stared at him, still somewhat incredulous. He also wasn’t entirely sure that was how the adoption vow worked . Didn’t Obi-Wan have to consent to it? Didn’t he still need to swear to the Mand’alor to be Mandalorian? Otherwise anyone could go around claiming anyone else was their child. Maybe that was the point. 

As Obi-Wan stared at him slack-jawed, the dining room doors opened again to produce Qui-Gon. He stopped when he saw them embracing, cocking his head a little to the side. “We should retire, Padawan, I’d like us to make an early start tomorrow. The journey to Coruscant is not a short one.”

Obi-Wan cleared his throat and stepped back from Mij. “Think about what I said.” The medic murmured, letting him out of his arms reluctantly. He nodded in goodbye to Qui-Gon and headed away in the opposite direction to Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan’s rooms. 

Qui-Gon watched him curiously, before turning back to Obi-Wan. “Everything alright?” 

Obi-Wan took a slightly shaky breath. “Yes, Master. Let’s get back to our rooms. The journey tomorrow will be long.”

***

Myles  rounded on Jango as soon as they stepped out of the dining room. After the Jetiise and Mij had left, and dessert had been eaten, the whole affair had, thankfully, started to wind down, and he and Myles had been able to make their escape. 

“Are you going to tell me what that was all about?” Jango stared fixedly at the wall in front of him, and not at Myles. 

“No.” He could feel the heat of his best friend’s stare practically stripping the skin from the side of his face. He sighed. “Obi-Wan nursed Boba.” 

Myles actually choked on his own spit, and had to spend a solid minute hacking to dislodge it. Jango watched with interest. “What the Kriff.” He wheezed, once he had a functional airway. 

Jango looked back at the wall, studying a patch of damp with a certain amount of vindictive glee that the Kryze’s monstrosity was poorly maintained. “Boba wouldn’t eat the food. The Jetii improvised.”

Myles whistled. “Took his own damn implant out then.” Jango grunted in agreement. “Wanna tell me how you’ve been handling that revelation?” 

He finally turned to face his vod. “It’s- made me a little insane.” 

Myles nodded, like he expected this. He probably did; he’d known Jango for a long time. “What did you do?” 

“Well, first I attacked him, physically.” Myles winced. “Then I banned him from seeing Boba, even though I could tell they’d bonded and it would be painful for both of them.” Myles winced again. “ Then I found out he was struggling with his treatment so I let him nurse Boba while I watched.” Myles bared his teeth, sucking air between them.

“Hmm.” He said.

“Yes.” Jango agreed.

“Okay, so that… all happened. But it got easier without Boba right?”

Jango blinked at Myles. Myles blinked back. 

“What did you do?” 

Jango groaned and collapsed back against the nearest wall, quite frankly needing the support. “If I say it out loud I might catch fire from embarrassment.” 

“Now you have to tell me, vod.” Myles laughed, settling himself against the wall opposite, directly against the damp spot. 

“After you sparred, I dragged him into a fresher and nursed from him too.” His friend’s jaw dropped open. “Then I jerked off.” 

“Kark.” He said, with feeling. “And while all this was going on you were feeling- what?”

“That he’s mine.” And that was the first time he’d really said that out loud. He’d insinuated with Obi-Wan, but the omega had been the one to say it. 

His vod whistled. “And what does he think of that?”

“He thinks that my instincts have been kriffed up by him nursing my ad.” Jango told him, with an eye roll. 

“He might be right.” Myles offered in return, but Jango was already shaking his head.   

“No, it’s more than that. He’s right for me. I can feel it.”

“Then what does he feel?” 

Jango growled a little in annoyance. “He doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand what his body is telling him.”  

Myles made a considering sound. “Have you tried just asking him to stay?”

“He doesn’t want to stay,” Jango argued, “he wants to go back to his family.”

“Does he know that staying is an option? Staying for you , not just because of whatever bond he has with Boba?”

Jango looked away and lifted his shoulder in a shrug, aware that there was a petulant cut to his clenched jaw. 

Myles was quiet for a moment, just studying him. “Do you want some advice?” 

Jango lifted one shoulder again in a way that seemed indifferent, but really meant yes. Fortunately, his vod knew him very well. 

“Go and ask him to stay. Right now.” Jango scoffed. “What’s the worst that can happen? That he leaves? He’s doing that anyway.” He took a step forward to lay a closed fist over Jango’s kar’ta beskar. “What have you got to lose?”

Jango looked at him, letting his shields fall, just a little. Letting his friend see in his eyes how afraid he was. “My dignity.”

Myles hit him once, gently, over his kar’ta beskar, and smirked. “Trust me vod, you lost that when you dragged him into a fresher to not kriff him.”

Jango reached out to cuff his vod around the back of the head, but Myles ducked, grinning from ear to ear, lavender hair flopping over his forehead. “Go get him, alpha.” 

Myles started off down the corridor toward the rooms they’d been assigned, whistling a jaunty tune. Jango glowered after him, huffing to himself in irritation. It was that easy? Just, ask him to stay? 

Jango growled and scuffed his toe somewhat aggressively against the bottom of the damp patch on the wall. Maybe it was that easy. 

He turned his head in the opposite direction that Myles had gone, where Satine had placed the Jetii and Obi-Wan’s rooms. They were closer to her rooms than his, he noted with more irritation, which made a fresh flush of anger heat his blood as he remembered how she’d called the omega pretty at dinner. Which he was, but she wasn’t allowed to notice. 

Could he really just-?

He took one step in that direction, the sound of his boots seeming to echo unnecessarily loudly. He took another step, and then another, until he was striding. If Obi-Wan left tomorrow, he might never see him again. He’d get his implant back and he’d squash all this down; all his instincts, all his feelings for Boba, all his feelings for Jango . 

One determined step after another, it seemed no time at all until he stood outside the omega’s room, hand raised to knock. Kriff, this was insane. He lowered his hand. He took three steps away from the door, and then three steps back. He turned to take another three steps away and behind his back there was a mechanical beep and a swish, and he swung quickly back around. Obi-Wan stood in the doorway, dressed only in a tunic. It was a little large on him and hung low enough on one shoulder to see the tease of a collarbone and, frankly, did nothing to hide the shape of his breasts beneath the thin fabric. Jango steadfastly kept his eyes on Obi-Wan’s, which looked tired and confused, but not like he’d just been woken up. 

“Jango?” Obi-Wan whispered. Right, better not alert his Jetii’buir that Jango was creeping around outside his ad’s bedroom. Kriff, Jango felt about fourteen years old. “What are you doing here?”

“Can we talk?” He whispered back. 

Obi-Wan considered him, a little frown between his brows, but stepped aside and tilted his head to invite Jango into the room. Inside, it was pretty much identical to Jango’s own; a bed, a small table and chair, a door leading to a fresher. The door slid shut behind him, and he stepped forward to stand in the middle of the room, Obi-Wan between him and the exit. That was probably for the best; it might stop Jango from being too much of a hut’uun and running away. 

“I was inappropriate at dinner.” He started. “Your history with Lady Kryze is not my business.” 

Obi-Wan licked his bottom lip, and Jango did his best not to be distracted by it. He mostly failed. 

“Satine was inappropriate first.” He glanced down at the floor, and then up at Jango through his kriffing eyelashes. “And I wanted you to know that nothing happened.” 

“Good.” Jango said, a little nonsensically. “It’s good that-” It’s good that nothing happened? It’s good that you wanted me to know that? Unable to finish that sentence without sounding like a shabuir, he switched track. “Myles knows about you and Boba.”

Obi-Wan blinked at him a little. “Alright. So does Qui-Gon.”

That made sense, he would need his buir’s advice. “I told Jaster as well.” 

“Okay.” Obi-Wan squinted a little. “Are we just naming people who know or did you intend to achieve something here?” 

Janog huffed and frowned, although he wasn’t truly annoyed. “I just wanted you to know.” He said sulkily. 

Obi-Wan smiled at him, and chuckled softly. “Alright. Was that all you came for?” 

“No.” Jango reached up to rake a hand through his curls. Kriff, he could do this. Taking a steadying breath, he reached up to unlatch one bes’masbur, and then the other, laying them on the table. That done, he stripped off both kom’rke and levered his ghet’bur up over his head, all three getting stacked neatly on the table. 

“Um, what’s happening?” Obi-Wan asked warily. Jango made sure to maintain eye contact while he unhooked his hal’cabur, shar’tas and nor’cabur, leaving him stripped of beskar’gam to the waist. 

“I want you to know that I’m telling the truth.” He told him, reaching down for both motun’bure simultaneously.

Obi-Wan swallowed, watching his hands. “And you need to strip for that?”

Jango discarded his ven’cabur without ceremony, and bent to unclasp his bes’lovike. “This is trust, Obi-Wan.” He said quietly, finally kicking his leg up in a practised movement to rest ankle against thigh, and pull away tadun’bur and cetar’bur. He did the same for the other side, leaving him in nothing but his dark grey kute and boots, and took a step toward Obi-Wan. The omega didn’t flinch back from him, didn’t move away, only tilted his head to keep their eye contact, so he took another step, and another, until they were toe to toe. 

Obi-Wan’s eyes flicked down his form, and Jango knew how he looked, knew that the weight of his beskar’gam and the warrior life he led had given him hard muscles, which stood out bulkily under the skin tight fabric. The omega’s breath hitched, just a little, and Jango preened. 

“Obi-Wan.” He reached up to cup the omega’s face in both hands, feeling the heat of a flush as it rose beneath his palms. “The way you came into my life was insane.” He got a wet sounding laugh. “But I’m glad that you did. Each day that I’ve known you, I’ve been impressed by you. You’re strong, you’re beautiful. And I will never be able to repay you for the care that you have shown to my son.” He paused for breath, staring into Obi-Wan’s eyes, which were swimming with moisture. “I know you don’t know what you want, but I do. I want you to be mine. I want to swear the riduurok with you. I want to raise warriors with you. I want you, and me, and Boba to be aliit. Stay, Obi-Wan. Please stay.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flicked back and forth between his own for a split second, before the omega lunged, dragging their mouths together in a brutal kiss, full of urgency and desperation. Jango tilted his head, just so, and used the grip he still had on Obi-Wan’s face to gentle the kiss, turning it wet and thorough and deep. The omega whined against his lips and Jango slid his hands down from his face to grasp at his waist, hauling him closer, so that they were pressed together. Licking deeper into Obi-Wan’s mouth, he nudged his rapidly hardening cock against the other’s stomach, and slipped his hands lower still, to get them under the hem of that sleep tunic. He moaned to discover that the omega wore nothing beneath, allowing him to cup both palms full of the sweet weight of his asscheeks. 

Obi-Wan broke the kiss to press his face into Jango’s fabric-covered chest with a whine when Jango used that grip to haul him up against his body, so that their two cocks were aligned and they could rut together. He took the shell of the omega’s ear into his mouth when it was presented to him, scraping his teeth just so along the rim while he rocked the omega in a lazy rhythm against his hips. 

Obi-Wan’s hands came up to the fastening of his kute and dragged it open to reveal Jango’s broad chest. He wasn’t soft and pale like the omega; his skin tan and pocked with scars from a life spent fighting, under a smattering of coarse chest hair. Obi-Wan didn’t seem to mind, and lowered to explore the scars with his mouth. Jango gasped, releasing one asscheek to cup the back of his head, fingers rustling through silky, red locks, when Obi-Wan bit at his pec and nipple. 

“Cyare.” He groaned, and used his grip to pull the omega’s mouth back to his own, licking determinedly inside. Without breaking the kiss, Obi-Wan widened the opening at the neck of his kute, and Jango released him to draw both arms out of the sleeves, leaving the upper half to hang loose around his waist. The bottom did nothing to hide the hardness of his cock, tenting the fabric obscenely. When Obi-Wan’s hand cupped around him, he had to rear back to suck a shocked breath through his teeth, sure that no touch had ever felt so good in his life. “The bed.” He gruffed out, and pulled the omega up into his arms by the thighs. 

The movement displaced the omega’s tunic, rucking it up nearly to his waist and giving Jango a tantalising peak at his cock, pink and flushed and so sweet against his belly. He staggered the few steps across the room, coordination shot with the haze of lust that had descended over his mind, and put Obi-Wan down on his back on top of the covers. The omega used the grip his legs had around Jango’s waist to pull him down on top of himself, stealing another kiss while Jango kicked at his boots to loosen them to the floor. 

Jango licked at his mouth again and stirred their hips together gently. He slid a hand up one pale thigh to push the hem of the tunic even higher, worming his fingers underneath so that he could reach the swell of one breast and cup it carefully in his palm. These beautiful, kriffing breasts that had started it all. Obi-Wan moaned, high and intoxicating, when he rubbed a thumb back and forth over his nipple and felt it firm beneath his digit. “Do you think you have more for me, cyare?” He whispered against his mouth, and the omega’s hands joined his own, scrabbling the tunic up and over his head, leaving his hair in gorgeous disarray. 

With both breasts before him, Jango eyed them greedily, before slipping a hand around to the small of Obi-Wan’s back, drawing him into an arch that presented the small mounds prettily. Propping himself up with his spare hand on the bed, he leaned over to take one breast into his mouth, teething at it gently to encourage the milky flow across his tongue. He had to work at it for long moments, alternating between gentle bites and hard sucks, before it finally spurted a little precious liquid into his mouth. Obi-Wan gasped as it finally let go, and Jango glanced up at him without detaching his mouth, noting the rosy flush on the omega’s face, and the way he’d drawn his plump bottom lip between his teeth to bite. His eyes were pressed closed, and the smell of slick was becoming strong in the air. 

Jango got just three small mouthfuls before the breast ran dry, the hormone shots Mij had been giving the omega finally diminishing his production to nothing. He sucked more viciously, in a vain attempt to get more, and Obi-Wan murmured a complaint, one hand coming up to stroke tenderly at his cheek where it was pressed beside his chest. With a final noisy suck, he let the flesh drop from his mouth with a pop. He panted, looking up at the omega with his eyes half -lidded, until he was guided by the hand on his face to the other side. 

He took this one inside a little more gently, working it softly with lips and teeth, wanting to savour what might be his last drink, as Obi-Wan’s body would likely produce no more. Until he was pupped at least, and Manda the thought of that made Jango groan in his chest and suck harder. His mouth flooded and he sealed down tighter, desperate not to spill a single drop. He could feel saliva on his lips, wet and messy from his enthusiasm. 

Another mouthful and this one was dry as well, but again he didn’t release it. He drew back only enough that just the nipple remained and began to work it with his tongue, making Obi-Wan gasp and jerk his hips up against Jango’s. And kriff that felt good; in his thirst he’d forgotten how urgent his desire had been, but now he felt it rekindle. He pulled the hand out from behind the omega’s back so that he could support himself on both arms over the lithe body and thrust down against him hard . Obi-Wan made a choked noise, so he did it again and again, roughly alternating between sucking his sensitive nipple and thrusting the hard length of himself in his kute down against Obi-Wan’s exposed cock. 

The omega wriggled, trying to find a different angle, and Jango knew what he wanted. He pulled back at last from Obi-Wan’s breasts and sat up between his legs. He used both hands to part them so that he could look down at that flushed cock, small and swollen, and then further to where the crux of his thighs was shiny with slick, his pussy pinking with desire. “Do you want my fingers?” He asked, reaching down to trail two through the mess, stimulating the wet folds. 

“Mmm.” Obi-Wan whimpered, writhing a little beneath him. “Want your knot.” And Manda that was like a punch to the gut. 

“Oh, cyare, oh sweetheart.” He bent back over to kiss the omega helplessly. “I can’t, I can’t give you that. You don’t have an implant right now.” Obi-Wan whined, so Jango slipped his two fingers into that slick hole, the rim tight and warm around them. The omega gasped with the intrusion, Jango knew that his fingers were thick, and his muscles clamped down in rhythmic pulses as he got accustomed to the sensation. “Here, these’ll keep you nice and full.” 

As much as Jango would love to knot him, they hadn’t talked about that, about children, about what happened next , and during the heat of coupling was not the time to decide. He kissed Obi-Wan again and slipped his fingers a little deeper, curling them. He kept his movements gentle, stirring softly inside the omega, prompting gasps and moans from his mouth, which Jango drank directly into his own. “Touch your cock.” He told Obi-Wan, who reached down to take himself in hand, stroking slowly. Jango groaned, the sight of the omega’s little cock disappearing between those fingers, rough with kad calluses and broad for omegan hands, made something hot squirm in his belly. 

He sat back on his knees again, so he could better enjoy the sight below him. Adjusting his elbow lower allowed him to change the angle of his fingers, thrusting deeper and harder, and Obi-Wan dropped his head back against the pillow to moan loudly. The hand around his cock was faltering, probably too dry since omega’s didn’t produce much slick there, unlike alphas who dripped precome; like Jango was at this very moment, soaking the front of his kute. Jango leaned forward so that he could spit down onto Obi-Wan’s cock, wetting the slide. 

The omega made a noise of complaint. “Uncivilised.” He said, and Jango laughed, bright and happy. 

“Shush.” He returned and twisted his wrist enough to slip a third finger up into that snug, little hole. Obi-Wan bowed his spine so far it looked like it hurt, and his hand sped up around his cock. Jango moved his fingers a little faster, even though it made his wrist ache and the increased intensity made the omega’s hips squirm and he tried to close his legs around Jango’s arm. He was having none of that though, and grasped his unoccupied hand around one thigh, fingers digging into that supple flesh, and drew it aside. With another few thrusts inside him, the omega let out a long moan, bottom lip drawing back between his teeth to bite hard in a futile attempt to quiet himself as he started to come. He clenched over and over around Jango’s fingers, squeezing his knuckles as he kept thrusting, working him through it, and his cock dribbled thin fluid across his abs and belly button, his own hand wringing more drops with every pass, the muscles in his thighs quivering with the tension. 

After those long moments of climax, Obi-Wan released himself with a gasp, falling back boneless against the bed, his soiled hand resting on his equally soiled belly. Jango stopped his gentle thrusts, and eased his fingers free, relishing in the way the rim of the omega’s hole clung to him. 

“That okay?” He asked the omega, who smiled. 

“Yes. What about you?” He tried to sit up, but Jango placed his clean hand on his sternum to keep him down. He clambered carefully over the omega’s tangle of legs so that he could straddle his ribs and tear his kute open the rest of the way, drawing his neglected cock into the sex-humid air with a groan of relief. 

Wrapping the slick hand that had just fingered his omega to orgasm around himself, he began to stroke, angling the head down so that it could rut just a little against the soft skin of Obi-Wan’s breasts. “Can I come on you, cyare?” He murmured, working himself with a rough hand, and the omega nodded eagerly, reaching up with his own come-wet hand to wrap around Jango. He released himself and tipped his head back with a moan as Obi-Wan smeared the remnants of his own come up and down the red, stiff length of him. 

“Tighter.” He gasped, and was obliged immediately, the fingers around him squeezing and creating a pronounced wet sound with each motion. Jango began to jerk his hips a little to meet Obi-Wan’s hand, recognising that the angle was awkward for him, which had the added effect of allowing him to work the tip of his cock against the omega’s breasts more firmly, leaving trails of glistening precome with each slide. 

He felt that coil in his belly tightening and straightened his back, core muscles jumping. He shut his eyes tight as the feeling started to wash over him, overwhelming in its intensity, and his knot swelled fast at the base of his cock. He wrapped his hand quickly back around it and clamped down as tight as could bear. Ob-Wan’s hand faltered with less of the length to work in his palm. “Keep going, keep going.” Jango muttered urgently, and the omega quickly picked back up, encouraging spurts of liquid from the tip of him, which splattered down prettily across his neck and collarbones and breasts. Jango groaned and growled through his orgasm, hips continuing to twitch into the omega’s grip. 

When he could finally take no more, oversensitive, he caught Obi-Wan’s hand and held it aside, keeping his own wrapped firmly around the knot. He settled back on his haunches, careful to keep his weight off of the body below him and opened his eyes, still panting gasps of breath from his open mouth. Obi-Wan blinked up at him, decorated in smears of Jango’s spend, standing out and shining wetly amongst his freckles. 

“That okay?” He echoed Jango’s earlier question, and the twinkle in the omega’s eye told Jango that he was being teased. 

“Never come so hard in my life.” He grunted, and Obi-Wan laughed softly. 

“How long until it goes down?” He asked, staring a little transfixed at where Jango still had a hand wrapped around the base of himself. 

“Not long. Would have been longer if I was inside you.” Obi-Wan flushed, and licked his lips. Jango’s cock gave a weak twitch in his hand and he groaned. 

When he finally softened enough to let go, he placed his hands by the omega’s shoulders and curled down to kiss him softly. They exchanged lazy presses of their mouths for a few moments, the tender skin of their lips clinging together, before the position threatened to cripple Jango for life and he heaved himself up and off, settling with a groan on the bed beside Obi-Wan. 

He lay there, listening to his omega’s breath evening out beside him, letting a smile tilt his lips. Obi-Wan’s hand groped at their side, and Jango caught the fingers up with his, intertwining them. At least one of their hands was still tacky from their activities and he thought about all that had been spilled across the omega’s pale skin, musing that he was likely going to get uncomfortable sooner rather than later. He fumbled with his free hand until he clutched the abandoned sleep tunic and leant up on one elbow to swipe it down Obi-Wan’s front, the omega watching him with dark eyes. 

“I can’t stay, Jango.” The confession was whispered, but it may as well have been shouted in his face for the devastation it wrought upon Jango. He shut his eyes, still leant up on his elbow over Obi-Wan, and just breathed, an ache starting in his chest so acute that he nearly gasped. “The way I feel about you- it’s so much. It’s vast and deep and it frightens me. No one has ever made me feel the way you do and believe me, please believe me, I wish I could stay with you.” Jango collapsed back down to the bed, his fingers tightening around Obi-Wan’s. He took another few breaths, deep and steadying, trying to make sense of the prickle of emotions inside him. He turned his head to look at the omega, eyes fluttering open. Obi-Wan was already staring at him, and their noses brushed. “I have to go back to my family.” And that was the final knife, slid sharp and deliberate between Jango’s ribs. Because Obi-Wan had already told him that. Told him how dear the Jetiise were to him, how they were his aliit. Kriff, it had been cruel of him to even ask the omega to stay. Jango wouldn’t have left Jaster and the Mando'ade for Obi-Wan, after all. 

“Okay.” He breathed. “Okay.” And untangled their fingers so that he could raise his arm for Obi-Wan to settle under, which he did, burrowing his face into Jango’s chest. 

“I’m sorry.” He told his chest hair. “Ni ceta.”

“Ssh.” Jango murmured and palmed the omega’s head, keeping him tucked close against him for as long as he could. He felt Obi-Wan drop off some time later, his breath gusting slow and even across his chest, but the embrace of sleep never came for him and he lay there in the dark, trying to imprint onto his very soul the rightness of holding his omega like this. Trying to ensure that he would never forget.  

***

The next morning, Jango gritted his teeth where he stood in the hangar bay. Obi-Wan was caught up in a hushed exchange of words with Mij, while his Jetii’buir stood at the bottom of the ramp, waiting as patiently and serenely as any being Jango had ever seen.  

The baar’ur exchanged a gentle mirshmure’cya with Obi-Wan, and the omega’s eyes slid closed in grief or contentment. After lingering there for a moment, he straightened and turned his body toward Satine, offering her a low bow and a few words of gratitude for her hospitality. 

Jango felt Myles kick the back of his ankle, hard, forcing him forward a step, and Obi-Wan moved to acknowledge him. “Alor Fett.” He murmured, low, dipping his head in another bow, that allowed him to look up through his eyelashes and ruin Jango in doing so. “Thank you for your part in getting me home. I will never forget you, or Boba.” 

Jango sighed through his nose, and weighed all his possible responses. Anything from you’re home here, to don’t leave me to kriff off and never come back then. But they had an audience, and Jango had begged on his knees once already; he was the Ven’Mand’alor, he would not do so again. “Thank you for keeping my ad safe, Knight Kenobi. Manda’yaim owes you a debt.” Obi-Wan faltered, looking unsure as to whether he should say more, do more, to ease what was an awkward and anticlimactic parting after all they’d been through. Jango set his jaw, and helped him decide. “Have a safe journey home.” 

He turned his back, jamming his buy’ce down over his head, and strode away, leaving his omega to board a Jetii ship, and likely never return. He felt Myles fall into step beside him, a familiar presence there, and did what he could to keep his breathing even. His chest hurt; an ache beneath his kar’ta beskar. He heard ship repulsors fire behind him, felt the heat and wind of them on his back. Something that could have been a sob wrenched itself from within his lungs, quickly stifled between his teeth. He felt Myles’ hand on his shoulder, steady, solid. 

He did not look back. 

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan was running late to meet Healer Praste, and he let himself rush, just a little, through the corridors of the Jedi Temple. 

“Do I need to tell you not to run in the halls like a youngling, Knight Kenobi?” A familiar voice called from behind him, and he threw a cheeky grin over his shoulder. 

“You could try, Master Windu, but I don’t recall listening to you then either.” The Korun Master’s deep laugh followed him as he skidded around the final corner and came to a stop in the Healing Halls. He took a moment to breathe and straighten his robes, before making his way at a more sedate pace to the short string of offices on the left-hand side; the Mind Healer’s Wing. 

Obi-Wan had been seeing Healer Praste for two years now, since his kidnapping, and since he had returned from Mandalore for the second time. He rapped sharply on the door and waited for the invitation to enter. It came, and when he pushed the door  open, Healer Praste’s head popped up from the papers he was hunched over with a smile. “Hello, Obi-Wan. Come on in.” He told him, and Obi-Wan eased the door closed behind him and took his usual seat across from Healer Praste. The healer shuffled his papers away and turned to give him his full attention. He was Mirialan, with skin of a very pale yellow, against which his gold, geometric tattoos stood out beautifully. His brown eyes were kind, and his mouth was creased with smile lines. Obi-Wan liked him immensely. 

“Good afternoon, Healer Praste.” He replied, with a polite incline of his head. “You’re looking well.” 

Praste smiled that welcoming smile of his. “Thank you, Obi-Wan. How are you today?”

“Very well, thank you.” The healer was a brunet, which Obi-Wan always thought made his overall appearance quite autumnal, and it meant that the disbelieving brow that was raised in his direction was a pleasingly woody colour. “I had the dream again.” He admitted. 

Praste nodded. “Talk me through it.”

“You must have heard it a thousand times by now.” 

“And I’ll gladly hear it again.” 

Obi-Wan sighed, and looked away over the Miaralan’s shoulder. He was one of the lucky few with a window in his office, though the angle and height of the Temple meant you could only really see a rectangle of sky. It was a lovely blue rectangle today. “I was sitting in a bed; it was comfortable and warm and I knew that it smelled of home. The sheets were pooled in my lap but beneath I was utterly bare.” He swallowed and licked at dry lips. “There was a babe suckling at my breast, and I was full of love. There was so much love inside me that it could not possibly be contained, and I was sure that soon it would spill from inside me like water breaking from a dam.” He reached up to rub against one flat pectoral, absentmindedly. 

“Was the babe yours, Obi-Wan?” The healer asked gently. 

“Yes.”

He received a nod, understanding. “Was it Boba?”

Obi-Wan flinched. “Boba is not mine.” He snapped, turning his gaze back upon Praste, who met his glare steadily. 

“Alright.”

Obi-Wan swallowed around his anger, and released it to the Force. “It wasn’t Boba.” 

“Alright.” The healer repeated. “What happened next?”

Obi-Wan took a breath and picked absently at the thread loose in the knee of his leggings. “Then he was there. My- my alpha.” He looked up to meet Praste’s gaze again, as free of judgement as it ever is. “He just appeared, beside me in the bed, in that way that dreams lack logic. He smiled at me and the look in his eyes- he loved me. He loved us both.”

“Did you recognise him?”

Obi-Wan choked on a laugh, his mind’s eye filled with brown eyes and warm tan skin and a head of curls. “I recognised him.”

“Can you say it aloud today?”

He shook his head and leaned forward, with his elbows on his knees. 

“Alright.” Praste soothed, not at all disappointed. “Does the dream end there?”

Obi-Wan shook his head again and examined his hands where they hung between his knees. Large, broad fingers for an omega. He’d never noticed that before he’d taken his implant out, and even now, with the new one he’d had since just a few weeks after his return, he can’t get the thought out of his mind. He hates this part of the dream. “He reached out to touch me, to put his hand to my other breast. My chest felt wet, and I thought that I had leaked, that I had spilled milk upon him.” He swallowed and twined his fingers together to clench them around one another until the knuckles turned white. “But when I looked down, it was blood. There was no wound but the blood seemed to be spreading. It drenched the babe and they began to cry, and it kept spreading, flooding from me, as from a broken dam, as I had feared my love would and when I looked up the alpha was covered as well, staring at me in horror, and he opened his mouth to scream.” He finally raised his head to meet Praste’s steady gaze once more.  “Then I woke up.” 

The healer nodded, and tapped a hand thoughtfully against his desk. “It’s okay to be disturbed by this dream, Obi-Wan. It is disturbing.” He glanced to the side to where his notebook lay open, just a flicker of his eyes. He didn’t need to do it often, but Obi-Wan was always a little endeared when he had to consult his notes. It was so normal, not to be able to hold every patient conversation in his head, all the time. “The last time we discussed the dream, you were reluctant to assign it any meaning. Would you like to tell me now what you think it might mean?” 

He blew out a breath. This question had plagued him for months; whether it was a warning not to return to Mandalore, or if it was just a stupid nightmare, brought on by trauma. “That I hurt them. If I go back, I will hurt him.” He whispered, saying out loud, finally, what he was most afraid was the truth. 

The healer made a thoughtful sound. “What makes you say that?”

“The danger, it comes from me, from within me. My love spills out and it is bloody. Ja- the alpha is afraid, the babe stops suckling to cry.” When he’d first started seeing Healer Praste, soon after his return to the Temple, he had been so embarrassed to discuss what he’d done with Boba - and with Jango - and how he’d taken them to his breast and let them drink from him. With the healer’s gentle encouragement, he’d become more comfortable discussing his actions and why he’d taken them. 

“Alright, I understand what makes you say that.” The healer leaned forward on his desk and smiled. “Can I tell you what I think it means?”

“Are you meant to do that? Shouldn’t you be guiding me to make my own realisations?” Obi-Wan asked, quirking a brow. 

“Sometimes, yes. This time, I think it will help you to hear an outside perspective. May I?” He waved the healer on and sat back in his chair. “You say that the danger comes from within you, but I don’t think that’s quite right. The danger certainly affects you, the blood is yours, but I don’t think it hurts the babe or your alpha.” Praste smiles, gently. “I think they are afraid for you .” 

Obi-Wan mulled this over, and the healer waited patiently. “So, what does it actually mean? In the real world, what is my brain trying to say?” He asked, finally.  

The healer shrugged. “I don’t think I can answer that for you, Obi-Wan. I am not in your brain.” A quirk of his lips. “Although that would make my job much easier.” 

Obi-Wan shot him an amused look, showing him that the joke was appreciated. But there was something else that was worrying him, something that frightened him, even. “Do you think it’s a vision? I was prone to them as a child.”

Praste watched him seriously, his finger tap-tapping on the desk again. “It’s possible. Though even if it is, nothing is set in stone.” 

Obi-Wan smirked. “Always in motion, the future is.” He quoted his Great Grand-Master cheekily. 

Praste grinned enough that Obi-Wan saw a rare flash of teeth. “Quite.”

“What if it is though?” He sobered a little. “And it’s telling me that I would hurt him if I went back to Mandalore?”

“What if it is, and it’s telling you that staying away is hurting him? And hurting you, as well.” Praste countered. “It’s a dream, Obi-Wan. It cannot tell you what to do, or what you want. These are things for your waking mind to decide, for it is your waking mind that must live with those decisions.” 

Obi-Wan let out a breath slowly. He saw the wisdom in this response, and he hoped that he could absorb it and let the negative emotions being generated by the dream go into the Force. “Yes, Healer Praste.”

“Is returning to Mandalore something you are still considering?” The Mirialan asked quietly and Obi-Wan sighed.

“It’s something I am always considering. But many of the reasons I chose to return are still relevant.” 

“Many, but not all.” The healer noted. 

“Not all.” Obi-Wan agreed. Healer Praste looked expectant, so Obi-Wan continued with a sigh. “I know now that my feelings were real.” He shut his eyes for a moment, under the weight of that knowledge. That if his were real, then likely so were Jango’s. “Our instincts may have been driving us toward one another, may have made us act in ways that we wouldn't have otherwise, but that didn’t make my desire for him, or his for me, any less true. Those feelings have not gone away, even with my implant returned, and my instincts suppressed.”

Praste smiled warmly, still without judgement. “I’m proud of you for recognising that, Obi-Wan. Identifying our own feelings on any topic can be difficult, let alone with the memory of how your unsuppressed instincts had felt adding an extra layer of confusion.”

“It doesn't make me less of a Jedi, as long as I can set that attachment aside.” Obi-Wan recited. It had been hard for him to believe this at first; that the feelings he held in his heart for Jango and Boba did not make him less, did not make him weak. Just as the love he had for his lineage did not make him weak. 

“That’s right.” Praste agreed. “And if you cannot, or do not want to set it aside, there isn’t any shame in that either.” This was harder still for Obi-Wan to stomach and he swallowed the sour taste it left in his mouth. 

“Growing up, all I ever wanted to be was a Jedi Knight.” He confessed, and reached up to run a hand through his hair. It was getting long now, curling just a little above his shoulders. He couldn’t shake the small voice inside him that wondered if Jango would like it. 

“Is that still true?” Praste asked, surprising him. “Our wants can change, Obi-Wan. What we want as a child may be different to what we want as an adult.” 

“I’ve put so much into my training.” He shot back, just a tinge of desperation to his words. “Master Qui-Gon has put so much into my training.” 

The healer made a thoughtful sound and tilted his head, just a little. “And if you weren’t a Jedi, would any of that be wasted? Would your education be wasted? Would the time you spent bonding with your Master be wasted?” Obi-Wan grit his teeth against his instinctive retort of yes . “Or would you still have all of these things? All of your knowledge, all of your skills, all of your Master’s love, even if you were not a Jedi?” 

Would he still have Qui-Gon’s love? They’d had such a difficult start to their relationship, Obi-Wan had worked so hard for his old Master to really see him. And he did, and now there wasn’t a day that he didn’t feel how his Master loved him. But would that change if he was no longer a Jedi? Qui-Gon had felt he wasn’t suited to Knighthood when he was just a child, thought him too emotional, and Force , what if he was right? “This is hard for me to talk about.” 

“Alright.” Praste agreed mildly. “Then let’s talk about something else. Have you considered whether to put in another request to the Council of Assignment?” 

Obi-Wan blinked at him. “Do you think I’m ready? Shouldn’t such things wait until my treatment is done?”

Another grin, another flash of teeth. “Your treatment is done, Obi-Wan. I am happy to say that you are a resilient and capable, young man and that you would provide a very stable tutelage for a Padawan.” 

“Even with the dreams? Even with my feelings for Jango?” He flinched a little at his own slip; at uttering his alpha’s name out loud. 

Praste did not outwardly acknowledge it. “We all have dreams that disturb us, we all have wants and needs that we struggle to untangle in our own minds. It is my privilege to help you unpick them, but you do not need me to.” The healer leaned back in his chair and spread his hands. “Nobody is perfect, Obi-Wan. Everyone is a work in progress. It is healthy to seek the guidance of a Mind Healer whenever you think it will be of benefit, and I have been glad to keep seeing you, but it is my opinion that you are ready for many things that you could not have taken on when you first returned, including training a Padawan. I don’t believe that they would be a crutch, as they would have been when you returned from Mandalore.” 

Obi-Wan tilted his head, thoughtfully. “You think that’s what I was looking for, when I first petitioned the Council, a crutch?”

The healer took a moment to consider his words before he responded to this. “I think you were genuine in your desire to take a Padawan, to guide and cherish them as you should. You would have been an exemplary Master. But I do not think it would have been good for you, mourning the loss of a child as you were. It would have been too close to trying to replace what you had lost.”

“Boba isn’t mine.” Obi-Wan huffed.  

“No, but you lost him all the same.” The truth of this struck him between the ribs, leaving him momentarily breathless.  

“Did you tell the Council not to give me a Padawan, back then?” He asked and Praste met his eyes steadily.  

“The Council of Assignment asked for my professional opinion, within the bounds of confidentiality, as your Mind Healer. And I told them that you weren’t ready.”

“Thank you.” Obi-Wan smiled. “I’m not sure that it’s what I want now, after all.”

“You’re welcome, Obi-Wan. And that’s okay; not every Knight trains a Padawan, it’s a personal choice. We all just want what is best for you.” The healer checked the chrono that hung on the wall beside them. “Now, last time I saw you, you were going to spend time with your loved ones outside the Temple. How did that go?”

Obi-Wan chuckled, and ran a hand over his new beard, the scruff catching against his lightsaber calluses. “Qui-Gon and Grandmaster Dooku took me to Dex’s. Did you know he now has a whole deep fried nuna on the menu?” 

***

Mace Windu was a son of a bantha. He was lucky he was one of Qui-Gon’s oldest friends. 

“Ha!” The Korun shouted as his Ghhhk took out Qui-Gon’s Houjix. “Take that, sleemo.”

“You know, this is why Yoda won’t play dejarik with you anymore Mace, you’re not a graceful winner. Or a graceful loser, for that matter. As my Padawan would say, you have ‘no chill.’”

“Your Padawan is a worse loser than I am. Who do you think taught me sleemo.” Mace grinned as he tapped a few buttons to shut off the portable dejarik board. The lines across the man’s forehead softened with the action, making him appear less severe than usual. 

“Anakin has taught huttese curses to half the Temple by now, you’re not special.” Qui-Gon snipped, flipping a few strands of his hair back over his shoulder. He gazed across the Room of a Thousand Fountains for a moment, and sipped tea from his cup. Mace leaned over to pour the last dribble from the thermajug into his own, shaking it with dissatisfaction when it ran dry. 

“Talking of your Padawans; how’s Obi-Wan?” He asked, leaning back on his spare hand, planted in the lush grass of the verge they’d chosen to set up on. “He nearly bowled me over in the corridor about a tenday ago.”

“He is well.” Qui-Gon sighed. “He is unhappy.” 

“Hmm.” Mace peered into the bottom of his cup. “Something is about to happen.”

“You’ve seen something?” 

He nodded. “A shatterpoint. It’s getting larger every day.” His friend sighed deeply, and Qui-Gon thought, as he had done many times before, that he did not envy him the ability to see shatterpoints. 

“Do you think he’ll leave the order?” He asked cautiously. He’d been wondering that himself for some time. Ever since Obi-Wan had sat him down a few months after his return to the Temple and told him everything that had happened between himself and the Mand’alor’s son, and how he felt about him.

“I think that he will make a decision soon. I can’t say what that decision will be.” Mace winced again and knuckled at the corner of his eye. “He’s unhappy?”

“Yes.” Qui-Gon sighed, and shook his head. “He tries to hide it from me. But I know him.” 

They sat in silence for a moment, contemplating this. Qui-Gon finished his tea in a swallow and passed the cup to Mace when he held his hand out for it. He shook both of their cups out over the grass, losing the last few drops and then stacked them over the lid of the thermajug. “Master Coll told me he’s been spending more time in the creche again.” 

Qui-Gon hummed. He’d been aware that Obi-Wan’s visits had grown frequent again, nearly as frequent as when he’d first returned to them. “He hasn’t told me everything, but he’s been dreaming of a child. His child.” He swallowed and met his friend’s gaze. “He thinks it’s a vision.”

“Hmm.” Mace nodded to himself, as if Qui-Gon had confirmed a suspicion. “Even if it isn’t, Obi-Wan wants to be a parent.” 

“Yes. More than anything, I suspect.” He ran a hand over the edge of his tabards where they lay on his thigh, smoothing them. “Maybe more than he wants to be a Jedi Knight.” 

Mace made a soft noise that Qui-Gon couldn't parse. “We could give him a Padawan. His Mind Healer thinks he’s ready.” 

Qui-Gon was quiet for a moment, contemplating. “There are many bonds of love within the Order, but we are not truly a family.” He met Mace’s eyes and saw no disagreement there. “Our love is not unconditional, it can’t be, by the very tenets we live by. We are taught that we must accept the pain and suffering of our fellow Jedi as the will of the Force, that we must set our love aside when necessary and that we cannot do whatever it takes to save them. A family’s love should be unconditional.”

“And Obi-Wan wants a family.”  

“Yes, he craves it. I think maybe he always has.” Qui-Gon mused. “Perhaps it was the way he came to us; left on the steps as a baby. Most of us at least know that we have a family out there, one that does love us unconditionally, even if we cannot be with them. We remember, just a little, what that love feels like.” He ran his fingers through the grass beside him, the blades leaving pearls of moisture on his skin. “I think Obi-Wan has been searching for that sort of connection his entire life, and he found it on Mandalore. That is not a simple thing to shake off.” 

“You are afraid of losing him.” Mace sounded disapproving.

“I will not lose him. Whatever he chooses, I will not abandon him.”

“That sounds a lot like attachment.” His friend’s disapproval deepened, and he fought the instinctive urge to flinch away from it. 

“I know my duty. If Obi-Wan’s death is the will of the Force, then I will accept it.” He responded, defensively. “But if he isn’t with the Order then maybe I won’t have to. I knew Jango Fett for only a few hours and I am still sure that he would do every single thing in his power to protect Obi-Wan.” 

Mace scoffed. “Trying to circumvent the attachment rule on a technicality then. You always were a maverick, old friend.”

“By maverick, you of course mean, ‘rule breaker’.” Qui-Gon told him, cheekily. 

“By maverick, I mean ‘pain in my ass’.” They shared a grin. 

At that moment, both their comms chirped, and Mace gasped in pain, hands coming up to grasp his head. 

“Mace?” Qui-Gon reached for him in alarm, but his friend was already straightening and waving him off. 

“Shatterpoint. I’m okay.” 

“Anything to do with why we’re both being summoned to the Council Chambers, do you think?” Qui-Gon held up his comm to show Mace the message, requesting his presence with urgency. 

Mace scrambled at his belt for his own, finding the same message awaiting him. “Oh, I have a bad feeling about this.” 

***

When they stepped out of the turbolift, they were greeted with the sight of both Qui-Gon’s current and former Padawans standing outside the double doors to the Council Chamber. “Anakin?” He called in concern, and the young boy bounced to his feet to greet him. Obi-Wan followed more sedately, an indulgent smile on his face as he watched Anakin. Mace shot Qui-Gon a significant look, and then headed over to speak to the Padawan on duty by the Chamber doors. 

“Mister Qui-Gon!” Anakin had been a slave on Tatooine before he came to the Temple, so they were not requiring him to use the honorific of ‘Master’ until his Mind Healer was sure that he understood that it was merely a rank and mark of respect here in the Order. 

“What are you doing out of class, Ani?” He asked, smoothing a gentle hand over the boy’s blond head, the spiky Padawan cut prickling beneath his palm. 

“Obi came and got me! We went to the hangar so I could watch them put a new engine into a starfighter. It was so wizard!” The excited boy told him, and Qui-Gon looked up to raise a brow at his former Padawan. 

“But that was only for a couple of hours, remember Ani, so you need to get along to your Diplomatic Languages class now.” Obi-Wan said gently and held out his backpack.

“I suppose.” The boy sighed and took the bag, darting around Qui-Gon to get into the turbolift. Qui-Gon left his brow raised, until Obi-Wan huffed a laugh at him.

“Your face will get stuck like that, then what’ll you do?” 

“Become known as Master Quizzical, I suppose.” Obi-Wan snorted and pushed their shoulders together gently. “Why did you pull Anakin out of class, Obi-Wan?” 

“I didn’t. His Galactic History teacher stopped me in the refectory this morning. They started on the fall of the Zygerrian Empire today, and she wondered if it might be triggering for Anakin, given that he’s still so young. I thought it might be better if one of us went over those modules with him, rather than subjecting him to the scrutiny of his peers, none of whom know what it is to experience slavery.” Qui-Gon blinked at Obi-Wan for a moment, once again bowled over by his boy’s compassion. 

“Of course I can teach him separately. And anything involving the hutts as well. It’s important he knows the history, but he can learn it in an environment that feels safe.” 

Obi-Wan smiled softly, pleased, before turning to look back at where Mace appeared to be arguing with the Senior Padawan at the desk. “So, any idea what we’re being dragged in front of the Council for this time? You didn’t cause another diplomatic incident by using the wrong dessert fork did you?” 

“No.” Qui-Gon huffed, sulkily. “Wait, they summoned you as well?” 

Obi-Wan nodded just as Mace finally finished frightening the poor, unsuspecting Quarren. 

“There’s a request from the Senate. They asked for Obi-Wan personally.” Mace lowered his voice. “It is non-negotiable.” 

Qui-Gon exchanged a glance with his former Padawan, but when Mace began to lead them toward the Chamber, the big double doors sliding open to reveal the circular room, they followed without comment. 

As they came to a halt in the centre, Mace split off to take his chair, slumping into it angrily. 

“For joining us, we thank you, Master Jinn and Knight Kenobi.” Yoda began, the Grand Master of the order, and Qui-Gon’s own Grand Master, leaning forward in his chair to rest heavily on his gimmer stick. His ears drooped sadly, and Qui-Gon felt a pit of dread open in his stomach. “A mission for young Knight Kenobi, there is. From the Senate, it is.”

Obi-Wan took a deep breath beside him, and then bowed deeply. “I will do as the Council asks. What is the mission?” 

“A call for aid, the Senate received, from the Governor of a planet called Galidraan. An attack, they report, by Mandalorian warriors.” 

The pit of dread in Qui-Gon’s stomach became a chasm. Obi-Wan swallowed visibly beside him. 

“The Mandalorians have a peace treaty with the Republic.” He responded, hoarsely. “The Senate believes that they have broken it?”

“Attacking civilians they are, according to the Governor.” Yoda told him, his usual croak gentler than Qui-Gon thought he had ever heard it. 

“What sigil do they fight under?” Qui-Gon cut in. “There are still some Death Watch cells scattered across the galaxy, those who oppose Mand’alor Mereel’s rule. I would caution against leaping to conclusions here, Masters.” 

“We have been sent holopictures. They fight under the sign of the Mythosaur.” Mace answered quietly. Obi-Wan gasped, and swayed where he stood. Qui-Gon caught a hand around his elbow to keep him upright. 

“And the Senate wants to send Obi-Wan?” He demanded. 

“Know that Knight Kenobi was saved by the True Mandalorians, they do. Hope that he can speak with them, they do. Want war with the Mandalorians, they do not.” Yoda peered seriously at Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon could see that his Grand Master was worried. 

“A pity that the full Council could not be convened to discuss whether sending Kight Kenobi on such a mission was appropriate.” Mace put in, snippily. 

“We’ve not been given a choice, Mace. The best we can do is carefully select who accompanies Obi-Wan.” Plo Koon soothed from the other side of the circle, the Kel Dor’s talons clicking together when he grasped his hands in his lap. “This is why we have summoned Master Jinn. Will you accompany your former Padawan on this mission?” 

Qui-Gon slid his hand up from supporting Obi-Wan’s elbow to grasping his shoulder. “Of course.”

Obi-Wan startled and turned his head to look at him. “But Anakin will need supervision and there’s the thing with his Galactic History module. He needs to be tutored privately, Master.” 

“I will gladly look after the boy while you’re both away.” Plo cut in, his voice warm. His love of younglings was legendary within the Order. “You can brief me on whatever he needs. I love teaching Galactic History.” 

“There then.” Qui-Gon smiled at Obi-Wan, who at least looked a little soothed. 

“I’m coming too.” His former Padawan turned to gape at Mace, who just frowned at him, affectionately. 

“I also think I will come.” The refined voice of his own Master, Yan Dooku cut in. “Komari could use some time in the Temple with her agemates without her old Master hanging around.” 

“A chance to volunteer yourselves, this was not meant to be.” Yoda said amused. “But allow this, we will. Masters Jinn, Windu and Dooku, accompany Knight Kenobi, you will. Be ready to leave within the hour, you should be.” 

Giving a shallow bow to the assembled Council, Qui-Gon used his grip on Obi-Wan’s shoulder to steer him out of the Chamber. His former Padawan looked shocked and overwhelmed. He guided him to the small seating area outside the Chamber and sat him down. 

“I can’t believe this, Master.” He murmured, reaching up to run a hand over his beard. Qui-Gon liked the scruff on him, though it made him look much older, and not at all like the young boy he’d raised. “Killing civilians? They wouldn’t. They just wouldn’t.” 

“I believe you.” Qui-Gon told him softly. “I am sure there will be an explanation. We just need to go and find it.” Obi-Wan nodded shakily. He took a few steadying breaths and Qui-Gon waited patiently. 

“What if he’s there, Master?” He finally whispered shakily. 

“Then he’s there. And we’ll deal with that, together.” Qui-Gon leant over to press his forehead against Obi-Wan’s temple. He knew this gesture had significance among the Mandalorians as well, but he had always liked to feel Obi-Wan like this, solid against him, and cradled close like a child. 

“I’ve wanted to see him.” The young man admitted quietly. 

“I know. Perhaps it is the will of the Force that you will.” This got a slightly choked laugh. 

“I just wish the will of the Force could be a little clearer, just this once.” 

Qui-Gon chuckled. “Many have felt the same, my young Padawan, many have felt the same.” He straightened from their embrace. “Come. The shuttle will be ready to leave soon. Let us go and pull Anakin out of Diplomatic Languages so that we can say goodbye.”  

***

The snowy planet of Galidraan was on the Perlemian Trade Route, which meant that the journey there from Coruscant would take just two days along the major hyperlane. In two days, Obi-Wan would see Mandalorians again. He may even see Jango or Boba or Mij. He'd missed the medic intensely since he’d returned to the Temple. He still struggled to accept what the man had done for him; adopting him, making him Mandalorian, if he wanted to be. He was glad that nobody but Qui-Gon and his Mind Healer knew about that particular detail however, as it may have caused something of an upset in the Senate. 

The small tea kettle whistled in front of Obi-Wan and he took it off the heat. While Qui-Gon and Master Windu had been coordinating with the quartermaster to pack them some warmer robes, Master Dooku had been equipping the shuttle with a truly impressive array of teas and tea-making equipment. Obi-Wan couldn’t deny that he was grateful to him. 

“Is that sapir, I smell, Grandpadawan?” Obi-Wan smiled into the steam curling around his head. 

“Yes, Grand Master. A cup?” 

“If you’d be so kind.” Obi-Wan looked over his shoulder to smile at Dooku. He didn’t smile back, but the hard edges of his brows softened, and there was a glimmer in his eye. Obi-Wan felt warmed by the old man’s affection. He gathered two cups and brought the pot over to the small table where Dooku was sitting, legs elegantly crossed in front of him. He went through the soothing motions of setting out the cups and pouring the leaves through a strainer, each movement precise and careful, and taught to him long ago by this very man. 

Master Dooku thanked him politely when he sat down, both cups prepared, and Obi-Wan felt his approval loudly in the Force. They sipped in companionable silence for a while. His Grand Master had a tendency to weigh his words carefully before speaking. He rarely said anything just for the sake of it. Once half of their tea had been drunk, Dooku spoke. 

“If your Mandalorian is there, you should leave with him.” 

Obi-Wan choked on his mouthful. “Grand Master?” He wheezed, in question.

“You have been unhappy with us on Coruscant.” Obi-Wan started to shake his head in denial, but Dooku pinned him with a look. “Your efforts to resume your life have been admirable, young one. But you are changed. What you experienced, changed you. It is time for you to accept that.” 

Obi-Wan swallowed nervously, and placed his cup down, noticing that his hand shook a little. “I accept that I have changed. That doesn’t mean that I can no longer be a Jedi.” 

Dooku tilted his head, curiously. “But you no longer want to be a Jedi. Or at least, you want other things more. This chapter of your life is closing, Obi-Wan. It is time for you to start a new one.” The old Master drained the last swallow of his tea, and stood. “Think about what I have said.” 

“I will.” Obi-Wan promised, and Dooku reached out to cup his cheek in one rough palm. The side of his mouth twitched, as close to a smile as Obi-Wan thought he’d ever seen on him, and then he was striding away, leaving Obi-Wan alone with his thoughts once more. 

His Grand Master’s words had been so similar to Healer Praste’s. Did the Jedi want him to leave? Did they want to be rid of him? He shook this thought off like water from a fur coat. He had spent many years feeling inadequate, afraid of his welcome within the order. But he did not doubt his place any longer, and he would not allow such insidious thoughts to creep in again. Dooku and Healer Praste simply cared for him, and were trying to guide him toward what they thought would make him happy. But he was entirely happy! At least, almost entirely. So what if he sometimes lay in his bed in the dark of the night and wept for what he could have had? So what if he had to drag a pillow to clasp to his chest in the pretence of holding someone?  So what if the very sight of younglings in the creche made his chest feel so tight with longing that it was hard to breathe?

He loved his Master, and he loved him in return. And he was becoming endeared with Qui-Gon’s lively new Padawan very quickly as well. His older brother Padawan Feemor was a Jedi Shadow, so spent years away from the Temple at once. It was refreshing to have a sibling around all the time. 

And Quinlan was home a lot these days as well, since he’d rescued a little Twi’lek that he hoped to take as his Padawan when she was older. He and Obi-Wan had been out to the lower levels a few times in civilian clothing to drink and dance. He’d even tried to encourage Obi-Wan to pick someone up there; someone that he could sleep with and then forget, just as many in the Order chose to. He hadn’t been able to do it. The touch of their hands on his waist had been wrong, and made his skin crawl, and even with his omegan instincts suppressed, it had seemed like they smelled wrong as well. 

He knew that he would need to make a decision soon; could taste it in the air almost. But he just didn’t know what to do. Truthfully, he was afraid. It was no small matter to give up the only life that you had ever known, no matter how badly you wanted to. He had meditated on it, and tried to see if the Force had any guidance for him, but he could still only see himself standing on the precipice. No closer to understanding if he was about to fall, or about to step back. 

***

Jango had a bad feeling about Galidraan. He was always wary about taking contracts in Republic Space - even though the treaty allowed it - but this one had him extra worried. They’d arrived on-planet less than a day-cycle ago, with no sign of the insurgents that they’d been hired to deal with. Jango had made three attempts to contact the Governor to find out what was going on and had been artfully deflected by the Governor’s aide each time. 

“I have a bad feeling about this.” Myles said, stepping up beside him. Jango snorted and it made his vocoder crackle oddly. They both wore their buy’cese, not able to relax enough to be seen planetside without full beskar’gam. 

“Something’s not right, Jango.” Myles told him, taking a few steps further down the landing ramp of the Legacy to look across the snowy plain. 

“I know.” He replied and gusted a sigh. 

“Might be time to cut our losses and get off this karking planet.”  He tilted his head to acknowledge Myle’s suggestion. He’d been starting to think the same. He hated to skip out on a contract, but right now he wasn’t sure there was a contract. Besides that, he had Boba with him so it would be better to get out of here before things went sideways, if they were about to go sideways. 

“When Silas and the verde get back from scouting, we’ll go. I don’t want to be here when our bad feeling proves right.” 

Myles nodded and crouched at the bottom of the ramp to gather some snow into his gloved hand. He considered it, running a thumb through the flakes, sifting them in his palm. “Been a minute since I’ve seen snow. Last time must have been when we hunted that bounty to Hoth. Few months before Boba was snatched, you remember?” 

Jango swallowed hard and grunted in acknowledgment. They’d been on the trail of some hut’uun who’d skipped out on a debt to the Hutts. They hadn’t been hunting him for the Hutts, who Jango didn’t take jobs from out of principle, but the family had asked for help when the slimy demagolkase had turned to them to settle the credits. They’d caught up to him on the ice planet; what had driven him to hide there, Jango still wasn’t sure. Boba had been too small to travel with him then, and he’d hated leaving him with Jaster, even for the tenday the contract took. 

Of course, the next time he’d gone out, he’d wished that he had left Boba with Jaster. It still burned that the pirates had managed to take his ad from under the nose of Ori’ramikade, even if they’d had to kill four verde to do it. He’d left Boba with them on Yavin because he’d received a distress signal from Walon Vau, an old friend of his buir’s, on Rodia, all the way on the other sith-damned side of the Outer Rim. The single survivor of the attack on Yavin had returned from getting food to find the bodies, no ad, and a flimsi ransom note, and immediately commed Jango. By then, he was already several weeks travel away. 

He’d been lucky that they were close enough for one of the short-range shuttles docked in the Legacy ’s upper hull to fly the rest of the way to Rodia. They weren’t hyperspace-capable, but Jango had packed them with verde, keeping his strongest, the vanguard, for his assault on the pirates, and sent them to help Walon. He’d understood, when Jango finally caught up with him months later. He had ade of his own, after all. 

Then when he’d rescued Boba, his whole world had flipped on its head, because he’d rescued Obi-Wan as well. Thoughts of the omega still plagued him, years later. The taste of his rejection was still sharp and metallic on his tongue, and formed an ache under his kar’ta beskar. But even with that ache, he longed for him. Jaster had tried to set him up with an omega from clan Wren, about a year into his pining, but the poor lad just hadn’t been the right fit. Boba hadn’t liked him enough. Jango hadn’t liked him enough. 

Blowing out another sigh, Jango reached up to tilt his buy’ce enough to be able to scratch at his chin. He startled, badly, when the roar of ship repulsors sounded suddenly in the distance. He tugged his buy’ce back into place and used the HUD to scan the sky. A shuttle had just entered atmo. 

Myles stood up, letting snow scatter from his glove, and raised that same hand to shield the glare from the sun across his visor, so that he could stare up into the sky. “Bad feeling incoming.” He muttered, as the shape of the shuttle began to get larger and larger. It was clear that it was heading for Galdira, the capital city, outside the walls of which the Mando’ade had set the Legacy down. 

Jango took a few steps down the ramp, so that he was shoulder to shoulder with his vod, the HUD in his buy’ce tracking the shuttle’s descent. As soon as it dropped into close enough range for him to get a clear visual, he gasped aloud. Painted on the side of the shuttle, in a dark red, was the winged blade of light of the Jetiise aliik.  

“Osik.” Myles said beside him and he couldn’t help but agree. 

“Comm Silas.” He told his Second. “Get them back here. And find Boba.” Myles knocked his closed palm briefly against his kar’ta beskar in acknowledgment. 

“Oya!” He took off at a brisk jog up the loading ramp, his boots thumping loudly against the durasteel. Jango took another few steps down, his heels crunching into the snow, compressing it beneath his weight, as he lowered himself off the ramp. 

The shuttle was still descending fast upon their location, and he felt his hands twitch to the hilts of his Westars. He left them resting there, breathing as steadily as he could. What in the Manda could have brought the Jetiise here? This whole thing stunk like a Jawa. 

His comm crackled and he twisted his wrist to knock his kom’rk against his thigh rather than taking either hand off his blasters. A few lights lit up in his HUD. It was Silas. 

“Report.” He barked.  

“You’re seeing the karking Jetiise ship coming down on us like a jai’galaar, right?” Silas asked, sounding breathless. Jango could make out the whine of a speeder in the background. 

“Yep. Where are you?” 

“Klicks out, still. Won’t make it first.” Jango acknowledged this with a curse and Silas clicked off his comm. Footsteps above him on the landing ramp made Jango jerk, but when he looked up it was just Myles. 

“I got Silas.” He told him, and Myles nodded.

“Good. Boba’s with Vhonte.” Myles hesitated, then turned his buy’ce to look over his shoulder. “Mij thinks we should stand down. Greet them as friends.” 

Jango snorted. “It won’t be him, Myles. I don’t want to try and reason with a bunch of Jetiise who don’t know us, and don’t like us.” 

His vod nodded, and took another few steps closer. “What if it is, though?” 

Jango shook his head. “Do you know how many Jetiise there are in the Galaxy? Thousands.” They both looked up as the shape of the shuttle continued to get larger. Jango thought it was probably almost close enough to see the Jetii aliik with the naked eye now. 

“How long did Silas say?” Myles asked, sounding nervous. 

“Too long.” Jango snarled. “Get everyone but Boba and Vhonte out here. We’ll show these Jetiise that Mando’ade will not be taken lightly.” 

***

The size of the welcome outside the Mandalorian ship was- concerning. Qui-Gon cut his eyes to where his former Padawan was practically vibrating beside him. The young man had been silent for the last fifteen minutes, since they’d gotten close enough to get a clear view of the Mando ship parked outside the city walls, and Obi-Wan had confirmed it to be the Legacy , Jango Fett’s flagship. 

Qui-Gon leant over to put a hand on his shoulder. “It will be alright. Remember, this is the will of the Force.” Obi-Wan swallowed heavily and nodded. He was very pale. Dooku watched quietly from Obi-Wan’s other side. 

“Knight Kenobi should go first, once we land.” Qui-Gon shot his old Master a look, and opened his mouth to protest. “It is his mission, we are merely here to support him.” 

“We’re here to protect him.” Qui-Gon hissed. “How can we do that if he is first into the line of their fire.” 

“They will not harm me.” Obi-Wan rasped. “Whatever has occurred here, whatever they have done. The crew of the Legacy will know me.” 

Qui-Gon made a frustrated noise, but saw on the faces of his companions that their minds were made up. He reached down to grip his lightsaber tight in his hand. Their shuttle clunked, and began to slow momentum as they approached the surface. Their pilot was an FA-4 droid by the name of Effa, and they took the vessel in as smoothly as only a droid could. 

Qui-Gon jolted a little on his feet when they put down, the landing struts old and creaky. Obi-Wan caught his elbow to steady him, and he smiled softly down at his former Padawan. “Ready?” He asked him and got a determined nod. Mace hit the landing release and a hydraulic whir began as the durasteel ramp lowered. At first, they could see only the sky and the tips of some distant, snow-dusted trees. They breathed in the fresh, cold air, and Qui-Gon shivered, grateful for the fur lining of his cloak. 

More sky appeared, then the top of the Mandalorian ship, grey and imposing against the landscape. Once the ramp had dipped low enough, the armoured bodies of three dozen Mandalorians, standing to attention, filled their view instead. Obi-Wan’s breath stuttered at the sight of them. They were as still as statues, sun glinting off their beskar, giving no sign that said they recognised any of the Jedi. Qui-Gon hoped that it was just too dim inside the ship for them to make them out, and not because these Mandalorians did not know Obi-Wan. Or did not care that they knew Obi-Wan. 

His former Padawan squared his shoulders and stepped forward to place a foot onto the ramp. A steadying breath, and he strode briskly down the durasteel until his boots could sink into the snow covered the ground. As soon as he passed out of the shadow of their shuttle enough that the sun could catch in the red-gold of his hair, the Mandalorian in the middle of the line jolted, as if they’d been struck. Qui-Gon felt his heart rate pick up, and he, Mace and  Dooku stepped forward as one to follow Obi-Wan down. 

At least there hadn’t immediately been any shooting. 

Obi-Wan kept walking, his pace fast, but steady, until he’d reached a point about halfway between the two ships, where he paused. He looked back over his shoulder at Qui-Gon, and he looked uncertain. Ahead, a handful of the Mandalorians seemed to be arguing with the one who had reacted to Obi-Wan, judging by the movement of their hands and helmeted heads. The one in the middle had their helmet turned toward where his Padawan stood, like he was staring, and had not looked away. 

The Masters stepped up behind Obi-Wan in the centre, catching him up, and they paused there too, willing to follow the young man’s lead. Suddenly, the armoured figure to the right of the central one threw up his gloved hands and broke rank, striding purposefully toward Obi-Wan. A hand reached to grab him and pull him back, but they were too slow and their fingers scrabbled uselessly across smooth beskar. 

The warrior descending upon them was painted in gold, the mythosaur sigil of the True Mandalorians proudly displayed on one pauldron. A glance at Obi-Wan showed that he was grinning. 

Just a handful of paces from them, the figure reached up and yanked his helmet off, revealing a man in his sixties, with an oft broken nose. Qui-Gon recognised him as the medic, Mij Gilamar; the man who had said the adoption vow to Obi-Wan in Sundari. 

“Ad’ika.” He called gleefully, and then he was sweeping Obi-Wan up into his arms. Qui-Gon’s former Padawan laughed joyously, and pressed their foreheads together, clinging in a tight hug. 

“Mij.” Obi-Wan sighed, and shut his eyes in contentment. Qui-Gon risked a glance at his fellow Masters, who seemed confused, but endeared by the display. Back at the Mandalorian ship, another figure had broken away from the group and was approaching, movements stiff and stressed. They came to a stop by the embracing pair, but did not remove their helmet. 

“Su cuy’gar, Obi-Wan.” They said, voice distorted by their vocoder. 

Obi-Wan drew his head back to look at the figure, and smiled. “Su cuy’gar, Myles.” He breathed. The Second in Command then, not Fett. A peek over at the Mando ranks showed that the central Mandalorian was still staring at Obi-Wan, and still had not taken a step closer. Qui-Gon was sure that this was Fett. 

“What are you doing here?” Myles asked, and tilted his helmet towards Qui-Gon, Mace and Yan, making clear that he meant what are you doing here with them? 

Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon and took a breath. “I need to ask you the same thing, Myles. The Senate sent us - sent me - to investigate reports of Mandalorian activity on this planet.” 

“Mandalorian activity.” Myles scoffed, sounding annoyed even through the vocoder. “Our treaty allows ‘Mandalorian activity’ within Republic space.”  

Obi-Wan inclined his head in agreement. “Yes, to a certain degree. I need to reach into my robes to retrieve something, are you comfortable with that?” 

The Mandalorian stared at Obi-Wan until Mij snapped at him. “Myles.”

He gusted a sigh through his helmet, but nodded for Obi-Wan to proceed. Qui-Gon’s former Padawan slowly put his hand beneath his cloak, and there was a series of clanks as over thirty Mandalorians shifted their weight, hands reaching for weapons. Qui-Gon barely kept himself from reaching for his own lightsaber, but Myles threw a hand up behind him, and the warriors stilled. Fingers were still wrapped around blasters, but they were not drawn. 

Obi-Wan’s own hand came back out of his robe clutching a datapad. “The Senate has received reports of Mandalorians killing civilians on this planet.” Myles jerked forward and it seemed as if was about to speak, but Obi-Wan cut over him. “Holopictures were provided. The Mandalorians wear the sigil of the mythosaur.” He held out the datapad to Myles, who took it cautiously. 

He clicked the pad on and swiped through the screen, each movement of his finger more vicious than the last. He let out a stream of sounds, and while Qui-Gon knew next to no Mando’a, he would place credits on them being swear words. “I need to show this to our alor’ad.” He told them, and Obi-Wan nodded to allow it. Myles strode away across the snow, sending flurries up around feet. 

Obi-Wan turned back to Mij and they began to talk quietly, the Mandalorian reaching up to run a hand over the young man’s longer hair, his new beard, checking him over as a parent might. Obi-Wan batted his hands away and smiled fondly. Back by the Mandalorian ship, Myles had reached the being that Qui-Gon assumed was Fett, and they were bent over the datapad together. Their hand movements looked angry. 

“Are you going to introduce me, ad’ika?” Mij asked, a little louder, and Qui-Gon drew his attention back to them. Obi-Wan flushed, embarrassed. 

“Oh! Of course. This is Master Mace Windu and my Grand Master Yan Dooku, from the Jedi High Council. You remember Qui-Gon.” 

Mij hummed thoughtfully. “Grand Master? This is your ba’buir?” 

Obi-Wan laughed, a soft little thing. “Yes, I suppose.” 

Mij held a hand out to Yan, which he contemplated quizzically for a moment, before reaching to clasp it in the Mandalorian style, forearm to forearm. Mace got a respectful nod from the medic, which he returned, deeply. 

“Why are the Mando’ade here, Mij?” Obi-Wan asked, eyes darting over to where Myles still conferred with their leader. 

Mij reached up to tuck some wayward hair behind Obi-Wan’s ear. “Best to let Jango explain, ad’ika. But whatever your Senate thinks we’ve done, they’re wrong. We’ve been on-planet for less than a day.” 

Qui-Gon watched as his former Padawan flinched at Fett’s name. “He’s here, then?” He asked the medic, breathlessly. 

“He is.” Mij responded. “Boba, too.” Obi-Wan actually gasped at this and took a step as if to go around Mij, as if to approach the other Mandalorians. Qui-Gon, Mij and Yan all reached for him at the same moment, grasping him in place between them. “Udesiir,” Mij murmured, “just wait.” 

Approaching footsteps made them all look over, and Myles was coming back, Fett just behind him. Qui-Gon tightened his grip on his Padawan’s elbow. 

The two Mandalorians came to a halt and there was a beat of tense silence, before Fett reached up to yank off his helmet, revealing a head full of curls, wilder than they’d been two years ago, and an expression on his face like he had been punched in the gut. 

***

He was exactly as beautiful as Obi-Wan remembered. Maybe moreso, with his curls a bit longer like that, cropped far less close to his scalp. His handsome mouth twisted, and Obi-Wan could not have said, blaster to his head, if Jango was pleased to see him or not. 

“Omega.” He greeted, and Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon and Master Dooku’s flinches, through their grip on him. As gently as he could, he shook them off. Jango had not said that to insult him, as they believed, but to mark his respect for what Obi-Wan was. He had done a lot of reading about Mandalorian approaches to gender in the last two years. 

“Su cuy’gar, alor.” He returned and stepped forward to offer his forearm. Jango clasped it readily, and when Obi-Wan tried to withdraw, his grip remained tight. Obi-Wan relaxed into the hold, so that it would not appear to his companions that he was struggling to shake Jango off him, lest they do anything hasty. “You look well.” He added, and Jango continued to stare at him for a moment.

“You grew a beard.” He sounded gruff, almost annoyed. 

Obi-Wan chuckled. “People kept mistaking me for a Padawan.” 

Mij barked a laugh beside him. “My baby-faced ad.” He said affectionately. Obi-Wan stuck his tongue out at him. 

Looking back at Jango, he let his eyes drift to where the other had still not released him, then back up to his face. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Do you not like it?”

Jango let his eyes trail obviously along his jaw, lingering on his lips. His own curved into a smirk. “I like it.” He said, voice low, and Obi-Wan had to fight the shiver that tried to go down his spine. Force, how did the man still make him feel like this, even with his omegan instincts ruthlessly suppressed?

Obi-Wan cleared his throat again, and tried to tug subtly on his trapped arm. Jango’s eyes dropped down to it, and after a moment of contemplation, he finally drew back. Obi-Wan shook his arm out by his side, flexing his fingers. 

“This isn’t us.” Jango held up the datapad, glancing at it in disgust. “They bear the mythosaur, but the base colours on their armour? They are Kyr’tsad colours.”

Master Dooku made a thoughtful sound behind Obi-Wan. “And I suppose we must just take your word for that?” 

“Nayc.” Jango snarled. “A joint investigation. Kyr’tsad could not have done this on their own. Someone seeks to disrupt the treaty and plunge us into war once more.” He turned to Obi-Wan, who felt suddenly hot under the intensity of that gaze, especially as it dipped down to drag across his body. “We should remain on-planet until this is resolved. You will be welcome to bunk down on the Legacy. Come.” Obi-Wan distinctly felt that order, and the offer preceding it, were just for him, but when Jango turned on his heel and strode off back towards his ship, and Obi-Wan followed, so did Qui-Gon, Master Windu and Master Dooku.

Obi-Wan had a feeling that something significant was about to happen, and the Force roiled and murmured around him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Master Windu squint at him, and flinch.

Chapter Text

Jango felt as if he couldn’t breathe. The tightness in his chest wasn’t new; it had been there since the Jetiise had stepped down from their shuttle and the shine of the sun had revealed Obi-Wan to him. He did his best not to stare too obviously at the omega where he sat between his Jetii buir and the serious Korun. He couldn’t smell him, at all, which, after those long weeks saturated with the scent of that milky sweetness, was extremely disconcerting. Obi-Wan’s eyes flicked shyly up to meet his, the blue-grey as beautiful as Jango remembered, and a flush hinted redness across the tops of his cheekbones, now nearly hidden by a soft-looking auburn beard. Jango swallowed hard, and turned his gaze to the eldest of the Jetii, the one who had been introduced as Dooku, Obi-Wan’s ba’buir. 

“We sent a small scouting party to investigate the surrounding area when we arrived and there was no clear sign of an attack on the city, as we had been told. They should be returning within the hour cycle.” He told the Jetii, and the older man brought a hand up to tug thoughtfully at his silver beard. Jango had sent the rest of his verde to find other places to be, while himself and Myles sat down with the Jetiise in the karyai to talk. Mij had not been pleased to leave his ad, but he would not disobey Jango in this. 

When Dooku spoke, his voice was deep and rich. “You do not expect them to have found anything?” 

Jango shook his head, his too-long curls tickling his forehead. “Not unless they found Kyr’tsad lurking in the woods, but even Vizsla isn’t that careless.” 

“Did you sign a contract with the Governor?” Jango’s eyes cut back to Obi-Wan and felt his chest get tight again at the sight of him, here, back on the Legacy, back within Jango’s reach. 

“A contract was drawn up.” He hesitated, then sighed. “The Governor was supposed to supply his signed copy when we arrived on-planet. I have been unable to contact him.”

“Convenient.” Dooku murmured, and Jango bristled. 

“Convenient, also, for the Governor.” Obi-Wan cut in, before Jango could snap back. “If the deception here is his.” 

“Hmm.” Dooku replied, but sat back in his seat. 

“Would you permit us to review the contract, alor Fett?” Jinn asked. Jango had offered them shig when they first came aboard and Jinn still clasped his cup carefully in one large hand. Jango had noticed with amusement that he’d taken only enough sips to be polite, and suspected that the remaining contents of the cup had long gone cold. He thought about the request, then signalled Myles to hand over his datapad. 

His Second had yet to remove his buy’ce around the Jetiise, and instead stood as a menacing presence in full beskar’gam behind Jango’s left shoulder. He tapped for a few moments and then slid the pad into Jango’s waiting hand, the contract already displayed. He passed it silently to Jinn, who immediately began to read. 

“Whatever the contents of that document, it seems a conversation with the Governor is in order. Perhaps we should head into the city. The Jedi are here at the Governor’s request, after all, it would not be so strange for the four of us to wish to meet with him.” The Korun, Windu suggested, leaning forward to finally relieve the nearly-full cup of shig from Jinn’s hand, where it drooped dangerously while his attention was diverted with the datapad. The Master set it carefully back onto the tray beside his own empty cup. 

“No.” Jango said, one hand grasping at his own knee. The Jetiise stiffened and watched him warily, even Jinn lifted his eyes from his work. “You, and Masters Jinn and Dooku may go. Obi-Wan stays here.” 

The Jetiise became even tenser at this, and Jinn lowered the pad to watch Jango. “That is not acceptable.” Dooku hissed, his voice becoming even deeper in his annoyance. 

“What guarantee do I have that you won’t be convinced of the Governor’s lies and come straight back here to slaughter my people?” Jango asked, a hint of steel in his tone. 

“Slaughter?” Windu spluttered. “There are four of us.” 

“Obi-Wan stays. As a guarantee.” Jango cut over him, voice hard. 

“As a hostage you mean.” Dooku spat, sitting forward with irritation, even as Jinn placed a hand on his arm to hold him back. 

“It’s alright, Masters.” Obi-Wan spoke up quietly. “There is wisdom in what Alor Fett proposes. If the Mando’ade have been set up, this plan is elaborate, and we have been positioned as executioners. We cannot so easily ask for his trust.” 

“What of our trust, young one?” Dooku argued. “They are recently accused of murder, and when we landed they greeted us with a fighting force. And we are supposed to entrust your wellbeing to them?” 

“I have trusted Alor Fett with my safety before.” Obi-Wan answered gently, and his eyes caught Jango’s across the table. “And I will trust him again now.” 

Jango felt his lips tick up into the faintest smile, genuine for Obi-Wan, but when he turned back to Dooku, he allowed the edges to harden into a smirk. 

“You and Mace should head into the city and question the Governor, Master. I will remain here with Obi-Wan and the Mandalorians, while I go through this contract more thoroughly.” Jinn suggested, settling the datapad onto the table between them. “Dividing our investigation is only logical.” 

Dooku let out a hard breath through his nose, but conceded. Jango’s kom’rk chirped, signalling the arrival of Silas and his verde. He tilted his head to look up at Myles, still looming behind him. 

“Brief Silas and get his report. Bring anything of interest back to me. Tell him we need him to go straight back out again and look for any sign that Kyr’tsad are still on-planet.” 

Myles twitched and Jango suspected his gaze had flicked to Obi-Wan beneath his buy’ce, but he did incline his head stiffly and step away. He understood his vod was just being protective. The last time he’d seen the omega, after all, he’d just about torn Jango’s heart from his chest. 

He turned back to the Jetiise and eyed them. “We have a spare speeder bike, if you follow Myles back down to the cargo bay he can show you.” Windu bowed his head in thanks and stood. Dooku remained seated for a moment longer, glowering openly at Jango, then stood as well. “We will return before the day cycle ends.” He intoned, warningly, and then the two Masters were gone and Jango was left alone with Obi-Wan and Jinn. 

An uncomfortable silence descended on them, and Jango took the opportunity to scrutinise Obi-Wan more closely. He looked well, he observed, far healthier than he’d ever seen him, given how malnourished he had been when they’d rescued him from the pirates and the slow pace of his recovery in the weeks that followed. The apples of his cheeks were full and healthy beneath the beard and his red hair shone in a way Jango had never seen before. It was longer, too, much longer, falling in gentle waves almost to Obi-Wan’s shoulders, bangs sweetly framing either side of his pretty face. 

He couldn’t help the way his eyes dropped to the omega’s chest, but there was nothing to see, no swell of breast tissue beneath the layers of his robes. He swallowed hard. He supposed that it had been two years, and Obi-Wan had clearly replaced his suppressant implant. 

Jinn cleared his throat, dragging Jango’s attention back up to Obi-Wan’s face, which was flushed with colour, and then over to Jinn himself. “I need to review these documents in more depth. Might you have somewhere private for me to do so?” 

Jango hummed, and stood. “You can remain here. There is something I wish to discuss with Obi-Wan.” He held a hand out for the omega who, after exchanging a long look with Jinn, reached up to grasp it. 

“Thank you, alor.” Jinn acknowledged while Jango pulled Obi-Wan to his feet, and leaned forward to reclaim the datapad, sitting back in his chair like he wasn’t at all concerned that Jango wished to get his ad alone. Perhaps he wasn’t. 

“Come.” Jango told Obi-Wan, his voice soft, and kept the omega’s hand curled firmly within his own as he led him from the room. 

“Where are we going, alor?” He asked as they stepped out into the corridor, and Jango frowned over his shoulder at him. 

“We’re alone, Obi-Wan. You don’t need to call me that.” 

The omega swallowed visibly. “Jango, then.” He murmured. “I wasn’t sure if I was allowed after-” He cleared his throat and looked away down the corridor. Jango released his hand, and turned to face him. 

“You’re allowed. You will always be allowed.” He huffed a breath, and scratched absently at the side of his leg, beside his motun’bur. “When I asked you to stay…” He trailed off and bit at his lip. “I shouldn't have. It wasn’t fair of me. Ni ceta.”

Obi-Wan was already shaking his head, even before the apology was fully formed on Jango’s lips. He stepped forward, the space between them condensing to nearly nothing. “Don’t.” The omega said emphatically. “Don’t apologise. You had every right to ask for what you wanted, just as I had the right to refuse you.” He took a shaky breath, and one pale hand reached up brush against a curl of Jango’s hair, where he could feel it tickling his ear. The hand trembled. “I was grateful to know how you felt.”

Jango cocked his head and reached up to re-grasp that trembling hand with his own, lowering it to hold in the small space between their bodies. “But you doubted my feelings anyway, I know you did. You were sure I was just being driven by my instincts.” 

Obi-Wan blew out a soft breath, and grimaced. “Yes.” He admitted, his voice pained. “I am sorry about that. I understand better now.” 

Jango sighed. “No apology, Obi-Wan. That time was confusing for you, and you were being driven by instincts that you didn’t truly comprehend and weren’t used to.” He rubbed his thumb gently against the hand he still held. “I wish I had been more understanding at the time.” 

Obi-Wan lowered his head enough that he could look up at Jango from beneath his lashes, and sucked his plump lower lip between his teeth. Jango felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut and arousal flared beneath his skin. “I wasn’t entirely.” 

“Huh?” Jango said, intelligently, too busy watching the slick flesh of Obi-Wan's lip to parse what the omega had said. 

“I wasn’t entirely being driven by my instincts.” He clarified, and it took Jango a few more seconds to understand, and then his eyes shot up to meet Obi-Wan’s once again. “But I cannot be your omega and be a Jedi. That hasn’t changed.” 

Jango stared at him, barely breathing, then finally let out a sigh, allowing himself to lean forward until their brows rested gently together in a mirshmure’cya. Obi-Wan shut his eyes, and canted his head into the gesture. Jango allowed them to stand like this for a few moments, enjoying the heat of the omega against him, even if he couldn’t scent him at all under the suppressants. 

Finally, he straightened, feeling a little smug when the omega swayed toward him before catching himself and fluttering his eyes open. “Come on. There’s someone who wants to see you.” 

***

If you asked Boba Fett, he’d tell you that his favourite things in all the galaxy were; uj’alayi, with extra syrup, riding around on his ba’buir’s shoulders, and going on missions with his buir. In that precise order. Except for today, because the mission his buir was on was boring and he hadn’t even been allowed to go outside once. 

“Ni copad at slanar dayn.” He told Vhonte, grumpily, and threw his toy starship at her. It bounced harmlessly off her tadun’bur and she didn’t even look up from the datapad she was reading. 

“In basic, ad’ika, your buir wants you to practise.” She drawled, in basic, and he huffed at her. 

“Shabuir.” 

Vhonte finally looked up at this, and raised a thin eyebrow. “If you know that one in basic, Boba, I won’t even tell your buir you said it.” 

He growled and showed her his teeth. He had a whole mouthful now and he wasn’t afraid to use them. She snorted, and went back to the datapad. Boba stewed on the ground for another few moments before giving in. “Outside.” He grumped, and crossed his tiny arms across his chest. He knew they were tiny because he’d compared them just this morning with his buir’s and he had not been impressed with the difference. 

Vhonte sighed, but she did put the datapad down and sit forward to look at him. “You can’t go outside ad’ika, you know that. It isn’t safe right now.” 

“I can fight!” He told her, offended, and she smiled. Vhonte had big scars on her face, right across her cheek and making the corner of her mouth all twisted, so only one side would really lift when she smiled. He liked her smile anyway. Except when she was keeping him locked in the ship. 

“Let’s leave the fighting to your buir for a few more years, huh?” She told him and held her hands out for him. He glowered, arms still crossed, before the lure of a cuddle broke his conviction, and he squirmed up onto his feet. If the steps he took to reach her were more like petulant stamps, she didn’t mention it, just grasped him under his armpits and hauled him up to perch on her motun’bure. He twisted so that he could get his arms around her neck, and banged his knee against her hard beskar'gam. He muttered in complaint as his leg throbbed, but he was a big boy now so he didn’t cry. 

Vhonte wrapped her arms around him and he settled into the hug, little chin pressing into the gap where her hal’cabur ended and he could see the material of her kute. He dug around a little with his chin, pressing it hard enough that she hissed in his ear at the pain and shrugged her shoulder to push his head back. She pushed him far enough back that he could see the glare she was directing at him, and he grinned, pleased with himself. 

“Little brute.” She told him, so Boba showed her his teeth again. “Bite me and you’ll regret it.” She warned, holding him at arms length in her lap. He snapped his teeth together. “Karking feral.” she muttered and spun him around on her thighs so that he was sat, legs extended in front of him, facing the room. Vhonte’s chest pressed against his back as she leaned forward to scoop the abandoned starship up and hand it to him. He immediately threw it across the room as hard as he could, satisfied when a chunk of plasteel broke off on impact and skittered across the floor. Vhonte sighed. 

“You didn’t want to play with that then.” She said, a hint of amusement in her tone. 

“Bic cuyur osik.” boba told her, and kicked one leg so that the heel slammed down into the gap by her bes’lovik. 

“The mouth on this ad.” She said behind him, but he got the sense she wasn’t actually talking to him. “Your buir teach you that word?” 

“Osik.” He replied, just because he liked saying it.

“Lovely.” She returned. He didn’t like that she kept talking basic to him, even though he knew he was meant to be practising, so he felt along her thigh for her blaster holster. Unfortunately, Vhonte was used to babysitting him and the holster was empty. 

He sighed, and flopped backwards, making all of his limbs as relaxed as he could so that Vhonte had to scramble to keep him on her lap. “Osik.” She said herself, as she hauled him up into her arms to stop him from ending up head first on the floor. He giggled, writhing to make it harder for her. “Kriffing stiffling.” She managed to get him resituated in her lap and he let his head fall back against her chest so that he could look at her upside down. She quirked that crooked smile at him again, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He blew a raspberry in disgust, even though he was secretly pleased. 

He sat quietly for a few moments, kicking his feet absently and observing the room. Vhonte relaxed back in her seat and reached for the datapad again. 

“Kriffing!” He announced loudly. “Kriffing osik!” 

Vhonte sighed. He was saved from a scolding by the beep of Vhonte’s comm. She tugged an arm free from him so that she could tap at her kom’rk and he squirmed a bit, displeased with her diverted attention. She sat up again behind him, jostling him in her lap, so he punched her in the thigh. This hurt him far more than it hurt her. 

“Your buir’s coming, Bob’ika. He has someone for you to meet.” Boba wrinkled his nose. He hated meeting new people. 

“Shabuir.” He said again, and Vhonte chuckled.

“Myles certainly thinks so.” 

Boba twisted his head to frown at her, confused. “Myles?” He asked, but was interrupted from getting an answer by the two-tone beep of the door unlocking, He twisted back around in time to see the door open, revealing his buir. He ginned. Maybe now he’d get to go outside. 

Buir stepped into the room, one hand held awkwardly behind him. Boba leaned forward, Vhonte’s arm the only thing keeping him on her lap, until Buir was far enough into the room that the other person, holding his buir’s hand , stepped into the room as well. Boba opened his mouth to shriek, appalled at someone else getting to hold Buir’s hand, when the person stopped in their tracks with a gasp. 

“Boba?” They whispered, sounding like they might cry, and he squinted up at them. He didn’t think he knew them, even though they knew him. They had hair on their face, like Buir got sometimes, but it was very red, like the dirt on Manda’yaim. The hair on their head was that same red. Boba paused. He did know someone with red hair like that. Someone who had looked after him while he was away from Buir, who had held him and told him stories and fed him. His friend, his Jetii, his-

“Obi?” 

***

Obi-Wan thought he might actually be having a panic attack. That was the only explanation for the way his chest was feeling, how hard it was to catch his breath. The little boy stared back at him, and oh, Force, he was so big now, nearly four years old and his crown of curls was messy and gorgeous and his little hands with their little fingers weren’t so little anymore and those brown eyes were starting to get wet, and those tan cheeks were starting to get red, and-

Obi-Wan flung himself forward in time to catch Boba as he launched himself out of the lap of the Mandalorian who held him, sinking to his knees as he gathered that small body close in his arms, pressing his face desperately into the boy’s hair. Boba hiccuped a sob, and Obi-Wan clutched him closer, cooing and shushing. “Boba.” He gasped again, stirring his nose into the curls, desperately trying to breathe in the boy’s scent and unable to with the suppressants dulling his senses. He felt his own sob build in his chest and exit his lips, cracked and heartbroken. 

He was vaguely aware of an exchange in mando’a happening over his head, and of a body moving past his and out of the door, the durasteel sliding shut behind them, but gave it little thought as he murmured to Boba, desperately trying to quiet the boy’s tears, and his own.

He startled a little when a shape loomed in his peripheral vision, but it was only Jango, kneeling down beside them. The alpha reached up to run a hand through Obi-Wan’s hair, pushing the curtain of it back behind his ear so that they could look at each other unhindered. His hand lingered to catch one of Obi-Wan’s tears on his thumb, before coming to rest on his shoulder, wet thumb pressing into the bare, sensitive skin of his neck. Focussing on Jango’s face, Obi-Wan saw that he looked gutted, like someone had put a vibroknife right through him. 

“Udesiir.” Jango murmured and reached out to rub Boba’s heaving back with his other hand. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure which of them he was talking to. Perhaps both. Obi-Wan met Jango’s eyes, which were molten, and glistening with too many emotions for him to parse. 

“I didn’t think he’d remember me.” He whispered, embarrassed when his voice breaks halfway through. 

Jango’s mouth quirked briefly, before he looked serious again. “How could we forget you, cyare?” Obi-Wan had to close his eyes against the way his heart ached in his chest, pressing his face once more into Boba’s hair. The boy was quieting now, sobs dying down to sniffles, and his hands were fisted in the front of Obi-Wan’s robes, gripping almost tight enough to tear the fabric. 

“He asked for you.” Jango rasped, his voice low and wrecked with emotion. “Every day. For such a long time.” Obi-Wan whimpered and more tears sprung to his eyes, guilt surging up inside him. He had never meant to hurt Boba, he’d hoped that the separation would be simple, that the boy would move on quickly once he was back with his buir, with his family. He had never intended for the child to hurt as he was hurting. 

“Shh.” Jango shuffled closer on his knees so that he could press his mouth to Obi-Wan’s temple, not quite kissing him, but breathing raggedly against him, stirring his hair. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.” Unable to help himself, Obi-Wan turned his head enough that he could tuck it under Jango’s chin and press his face into the base of his neck. The alpha’s chest plate was cold against his cheek, but his tan skin was warm and smooth under his mouth where he pressed against the hollow of his throat. He breathed deeply, hoping to catch even the slightest hint of the alpha scent that had haunted him in the years since they had been parted, but as with Boba, there was nothing. 

Jango’s arms were around him now - around them both - and he let himself sag sideways so that the alpha could take their weight, which he did, without complaint or struggle. “Udesiir.” He murmured again, and Obi-Wan felt his mouth moving against his hair with the words, felt his chest move with the breath he took to form them, felt the muscles in his throat vibrate beneath his own lips. He was held, surrounded, safer than he’d ever felt. 

Boba gave a final sniffle and dragged his face out from Obi-Wan’s chest; leaving an impressive smear of snot behind, his tabards sodden with salty tears. “Vaii rucuyir gar?” The boy mumbled and Obi-Wan’s heart broke all over again. 

“Basic, Boba.” Jango said exasperatedly from over their heads. 

“Nayc, ni suvarir.” Obi-Wan reassured them, but Jango scoffed. 

“I know that, Ob’ika. But Boba is meant to be practising his basic. Which he knows. ” 

Boba squirmed until Obi-Wan loosened his arms enough that the little one could stand up on his thighs, making him taller than them both. Boba huffed a sigh, but then enunciated carefully in accented basic. “Where were you?” 

Obi-Wan steadied Boba on his legs and Jango sat back on his heels, arms retreating to give them a little more space, although the three of them are still pressed intimately close. He swallowed and smoothed a hand over Boba’s hair. “I was on Coruscant, dear one, with the other Jedi.” 

Boba considered this. “Why?” 

Obi-Wan carefully weighed what to say. “Boba, you miss your buir when you’re not with him, don’t you? And you miss your ba’buir?” 

“Sure.” Boba agreed, squinting at him. 

“Well, my buir and my ba’buir, and even my ba’ba’buir were all on Coruscant and I missed them.” He explained gently. Jango snorted beside him, and he shot him a quick look. 

“That’s not how you say that. Ba’ba’buir? That’s not-” He chuckled to himself, low and rich. “Never mind.” 

Boba hummed thoughtfully, pulling Obi-Wan’s attention back. “So you were with your buir?” 

“I was. I’d missed him a lot.” He confessed, quietly. 

“Okay.” Boba said, seemingly satisfied with this explanation. Obi-Wan was briefly envious of the simplicity of a youngling’s understanding of the world; that Boba hadn’t seen him for two entire years just because Obi-Wan was with his parent. “Missed you.” 

Jango makes a noise beside him, and Obi-Wan feels his heart wrench once again. Much more of this and he’d actually become worried for his cardiac health. “Oh, Boba. I missed you too. More than I can ever say.” He gathered the boy in close for another hug, and felt small arms curling tight around his neck. 

“Obi?” Boba asked, muffled against his skin, and Obi-Wan hummed in question. “You smell funny.” He glanced over to meet Jango’s eyes. The alpha merely raised his brows in amusement, providing no help whatsoever. 

“Ah.” Obi-Wan said. “That’s because I’m taking some medicine at the moment, ad’ika.” 

He actually felt Boba’s nose wrinkle against his neck. “Medicine is yuck.” Obi-Wan laughed softly, and turned his head so that he could press a kiss into the boy’s hair. 

“Very yuck.” He agreed, and raised his head to meet Jango’s gaze. The alpha was staring down at his son, warm with adoration, and Obi-Wan felt his heart rate tick up. When those golden eyes flicked back up to his, their warmth didn’t fade, and the smile that tilted Jango’s lips seemed private, just for him. He felt his own mouth tug into a grin in response. 

***

Later, once Boba had become heavy and sleepy in Obi-Wan’s arms, and he and Jango’s knees had begun to truly protest their extended sojourn on the durasteel floor, Obi-Wan had watched Jango tuck his son into bed, and then fled before the man could turn his full attention once more upon him. 

Instead, he sought out Qui-Gon, who had by then been shown to a bunk room on the Legacy. There were doubled up bunks on either side of the slim room to accommodate four, though his old Master was the only one in there, working on three different datapads. When Obi-Wan came through the door, Qui-Gon swept his curtain of hair over one shoulder and smiled so warmly at him, that he immediately burst into tears. 

“Oh, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon murmured, and held a hand out to draw him onto the bunk beside him, so that he could wrap him up in his arms. Obi-Wan tucked his head beneath Qui-Gon’s chin, and was held, just as he had held Boba. “What’s happened, young one? You felt so happy in the Force earlier.”  

He sniffled into Qui-Gon’s robes, ignoring that they smelled a little stale. “I saw Boba.” 

“Ah.” His old Master murmured, and held him closer. “How did that go?” 

“He remembered me. I didn't think that he would.”  

Qui-Gon scoffed gently. “Of course he remembered you. You’re not very forgettable, my dear Padawan.” 

Obi-Wan burrowed further into his old Master’s robe, to hide his pleased smile. “I think I’d been lying to myself about how much I’d missed him. All this time I’d been trying to sort out how I felt about leaving Jango behind, I don't think I let myself think enough about how it had been to leave Boba behind.”

Qui-Gon hummed thoughtfully, and smoothed a hand up his back. “It hurt too much to think about.”

“Yes.” Obi-Wan whispered.  

“He’s your child, Obi-Wan.” Obi-Wan drew back to glare at Qui-Gon, who fixed him with a serious look. “You’re the only one that doesn’t see that.” 

He tried to protest. “Jango-” 

“Would be the first in line to tell you that.” Qui-Gon raised his voice slightly to interrupt, and Obi-Wan felt his eyebrows draw down. 

“He- he kept us apart. At first.” He explained, and Qui-Gon’s hand resumed its gentle path up and down his back.  

“Of course he did, he was confused and he was afraid.” Qui-Gon’s spare hand reached down to touch his chin, tilting him so that their eyes could meet. “But once he saw you and Boba together, once he understood, I don’t think he ever looked back.” 

Obi-Wan swallowed, and took a couple of steadying breaths. “But if I accept that Boba is mine, then how can I ever leave him behind again?”

His old Master didn’t answer right away, the hand on his chin going to smooth Obi-Wan’s hair, his face thoughtful. 

“It would be hard, but you could do it.” He said, after a few long moments.  

It was Obi-Wan’s turn to scoff. “You can’t know that.” 

“I can.” Qui-Gon responded, with gentle conviction. “I did it.”

Obi-Wan blinked at him. “What?”

His old Master sighed, and looked away, eyes going distant. “When I was a younger man, before you were my Padawan, I had a child. With Tahl.”

Obi-Wan scrambled to sit up, tangling himself in their combined robes. “What?! How?”

Qui-Gon’s eyes flicked back to his with a glimmer of mischief. “Well, Padawan, when two consenting adults-”

“Nahnahnah!” Obi-Wan shouted, clapping his hands over his ears. Qui-Gon gave a deep belly laugh and gently swatted them back down. 

“Tahl and I were on mission, on a remote, sparsely populated moon.” He settled himself a little more comfortably against the back of the bunk. “The flora on this moon was fascinating, in fact, some of the trees-”

“Oh, Force, Master. You and your plants. ” Obi-Wan moaned, pitching himself face first into the bunk beside Qui-Gon’s hip.  

His old Master chuckled. “My plants are actually relevant to the story this time, young one.” Obi-Wan rolled onto his back so that he could look up at him. “We were exposed to something, a pollen, or a chemical of some kind, we were never sure, but our implants failed.” 

Obi-Wan swallowed heavily, gazing up from his prone position. “So, you’ve- you know what it’s like to be without? The scents, and the feelings, and the instincts?”

Qui-Gon smiled thinly. “Yes. Although, Tahl and I had already been intimate many times before this happened, and we were more attached than was befitting Jedi.” He sighed and a big hand came up to run over his prickly chin. “I would not say that our actions, that our couplings during that time, were driven by anything more than the feelings we had for each other already. Only what resulted from those couplings was different.” 

“Tahl got pregnant.” Obi-Wan said, sitting up.  

“Yes. We discovered this once we returned to the Temple and attended the Healing Halls to have our implants replaced.” 

Obi-Wan shook his head in wonderment. How had he never learned of this before? “Were you in trouble? With the Council?”

Qui-Gon nodded. “Some, but not because of what occurred on the moon. We were reprimanded for the relationship we had already been carrying out, which came to light because of the discovery.” 

“So what happened?”

“Tahl carried the child to term, though we were sequestered from each other as much as was possible for those nine months.” Qui-Gon sighed, and his fingers plucked at the blanket in a nervous tell that Obi-Wan didn’t often see from him. “It may have been the hardest time of my life, even with my instincts appropriately suppressed, to stay away, knowing that Tahl carried our child within her. A little person, part her, part me.” He tilted his head back to rest against the wall, staring up at the bottom of the bunk above. “After the boy was born, I was allowed to Tahl’s bedside, just once, before they sent him away.” 

Obi-Wan gasped quietly. “They sent him away?” 

“Yes. He did not test highly for Force-sensitivity, so he was sent to be raised by Tahl’s family on Noori. I understand that he has lived a happy and loving life among them.” Qui-Gon’s chin tilted down enough that Obi-Wan could see a sad smile. “But in that moment, as I stood at Tahl’s bedside, our son cradled in my arms, I had never wanted anything more in my life than to keep them, both of them. If Tahl had asked, I would have walked away from the Order that second, and I would have made a family with her.”

Obi-Wan swallowed heavily, his stomach aching with what could have been. What would have become of him, if Qui-Gon Jinn had not been a part of the Order? Would he have gone to the AgriCorps and stayed there, no Master to train him? “But she didn’t ask?” 

Another sad smile. “She didn’t. And it is the greatest regret of my life that I didn’t have the courage to ask myself. Or even to do it without her.” 

Obi-Wan reached to take his old Master’s hand, to offer comfort. Qui-Gon curled their fingers together. “You could go and find him, couldn’t you? Your son?” 

Qui-Gon shook his head. “That wouldn’t be fair to him. If he had ever come to the Temple to find me, then of course I’d have been whatever he wanted me to be, but he hasn’t, so it is not my place.” He tightened his grip on their clasped hands, and smiled down at Obi-Wan. “Besides, not so long after that I had you to think about, and now I have Anakin as well.” 

Obi-Wan thought about this. “When did it happen? How long before we-?”

“Just a few months, young one. My Grand Master hoped it would help, but in my grief I neglected you.” Qui-Gon drew him a little closer with their joined hands. “In my grief, I did not realise the gift I had been given. The gift of a child in you.” 

“Master.” Obi-Wan said, thickly, tears prickling in his eyes again. 

“But I know it now. And being your father has been the greatest privilege of my life, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon told him seriously, and Obi-Wan felt a tear slip from his lid and trail down his cheek. Qui-Gon caught it, and wiped it away.  

“But if you could go back, if you had the chance to do it differently, you would have left the Order  to have a family.” He stated. Asked.  

Qui-Gon sighed. “No, not with the knowledge I have, not knowing that I get to raise you and Ani.” He watched Obi-Wan’s face for a moment, searching for something. “But it is different for you, Obi-Wan, your future isn’t written, your future Padawans are only hypotheticals. There is a real child, and a real parent beside him, who have asked you to stay.” 

“I don’t want to lose you, Master.” Obi-Wan said, voice barely above a whisper.  

“Oh, Obi-Wan. My foolish boy.” Qui-Gon untangled their hands to cup Obi-Wan’s face. “You will never lose me. If you move to Mandalore then I’ll be purchasing a summer home in the desert here, like I’m a rich Senator.” Obi-Wan hiccuped a laugh. “You’re my child, and I love you more than I ever thought possible. If you leave the Order, then I will call, I will write, I will visit. And so will your friends. The galaxy isn’t so big that you can't see them. And maybe one day, when Anakin is grown, and I’m too old and grey to go on missions, I’ll join you here.” 

“Really?” Obi-Wan gazed at his old Master in disbelief. 

“Really.” Qui-Gon’s face twitched into something cheeky. “You think I’m going to miss the chance to become a, what do the Mandos call it, a ba’buir?” 

Obi-Wan laughed, and flopped sideways so that he was once again lying on the bunk, dislodging Qui-Gon’s hands. “That’s everyone now, you know. Everyone’s telling me to stay with Jango and Boba.”

Qui-Gon hummed. “But what do you want to do?”

Obi-Wan sighed. “I wasn’t sure, I kept talking myself out of it, but- as soon as I saw Boba, I knew.” 

“Well then.” Qui-Gon leaned over so that his face loomed above Obi-Wan’s. “I hope I get to meet my new grandson soon. And all the ones that follow, as well.” 

“Qui-Gon!” Obi-Wan yelped, reaching up to push his face away.  

Qui-Gon dodged taking a palm to the nose, effortlessly. “Please! I’ve met your alpha, that man’s so desperate to get you pregnant I’m surprised he hasn’t redecorated this bunk room to be a nursery.” 

Obi-Wan covered his face in embarrassment and rolled off the bunk onto the floor with a thump. Qui-Gon’s laughter followed him the whole way down. 

***

Masters Windu and Dooku returned just as the sun was setting, reflecting off the crisp snow like orange firelight. They conferred gravely with Qui-Gon while Obi-Wan studiously bit every fingernail down to the quick. The Governor had folded like wet flimsi when faced with two honest to Force Jedi Masters and revealed the whole plot. They’d left, not only with the payment due to the Mandalorians for the false contract, but several datapads worth of correspondence and financial exchanges between the Governor and, oddly enough, the Senator for Naboo. 

Obi-Wan found he could barely focus on this, however, still reeling from all that Qui-Gon had revealed to him. His heart was full, almost to bursting, with love for his Master, and he was intensely touched by Qui-Gon’s insistence that they would not lose each other if he chose to leave the Order. And it really felt like that was what he was about to do. Was he out of his mind? The Jedi were all he had known for literal decades, and he had worked so hard to be one of them. 

But that boy, that sweet, gorgeous child who he still remembered feeding from his own breast, he was here, and he was Obi-Wan’s, and he wanted nothing more on this earth than to watch him grow up. Healer Praste had told him that it was alright for his wants to change; that what you want as an adult may not be what you wanted as a child. So, maybe Obi-Wan didn’t need to be a Knight to do good in the galaxy. Maybe he could even do more without the constraints of the Republic Senate, and he could do it while having a family, one that could love him in a way that another Jedi shouldn’t. 

He felt on the edge of a precipice. Like those visions he’d seen of himself in the Force, when everything had felt clouded, and he wasn’t sure if he had been about to fall, or about to step back. He had been neither, he knew now. He had been about to step forward, over, willingly. 

Master Windu huffed a sigh through his nose, and turned to squint at Obi-Wan out of the corner of his eye. “Go away, Kenobi. Looking at you is giving me a headache.” 

Qui-Gon chuffed a laugh, and his eyes twinkled when Obi-Wan caught them. He gave his old Master a smile in return, and stood to bow to the two Council Members, before departing the room with as much dignity as one could muster when being kicked out of their own sleeping quarters. 

He wandered around the ship for a bit, running a hand along the durasteel bulkhead, feeling the hum of the Force in every nook and cranny. There was suffering, evidence of battle and injury in the echoes, but stronger than that, so much stronger, was love, and a sense of family, and comradery and belonging. Aliit. 

Without truly meaning to, Obi-Wan found himself in a familiar part of the ship, in a familiar corridor, leading to the medbay. He chuckled a little as he ambled closer, feet treading a well worn path. 

The medbay doors looked the same, but for a dent halfway down. He wondered idly what had happened, and realised with pleasure that it was a story he had all the time in the world to hear. With the touch of a button, they slid open, revealing the familiar sanctum within. Force, it was exactly the same. The beds, all in a neat row, privacy curtains between, sheets stiff and neat, and sat on a hoverstool, poring over datapads and actual flimsi textbooks, was Mij. 

“Su cuy’gar, Buir.” He called, and the man’s head shot up, a grin breaking over his weathered face. 

“Hey, Ob’ika.” He murmured and pushed back from his desk to stand with a groan. He opened his arms and Obi-Wan tripped into them with a sigh. “Where have you been?” 

“Mm.” He said, pressing his face into the old alpha’s chest, wishing once again that he could scent him. “With my Master. And before that, with Boba and Jango.” 

“Yeah?” Mij asked, carding a gentle hand through his hair. “How was that?” 

“Good. I missed them. I missed them so much.” He swallowed a few times, determined not to cry again. He had cried- well, a lot today. 

“They missed you too, Ob’ika.” Mij told him softly. “I missed you.” Obi-Wan simply squeezed his arms around him harder, and settled in to listen to the medic breathe. 

“If I’m your ad, do I take your name?” He asked after a few moments, and Mij made a low, gutted sound. 

“If you want to. Though I know I have some stiff competition for giving you a new last name.” Obi-Wan choked a laugh against Mij’s chest, and finally drew back. Mij slid his hands up to grasp his shoulders so that he could hold him and look at him shrewdly. “What’s going on?” 

Obi-Wan looked away, not quite ready to say it aloud. He cleared his throat. “Does Jango know? About the adoption?” 

Mij chuckled again. “Sure does. I think he was torn between being furious that I’d claimed you for my clan before he could, and grateful that I might have given you a reason to return. Poor boy looked constipated, to be perfectly honest.”

Obi-Wan’s laugh was a little wet. Mij reached up to take his chin, and turned his head until their eyes met again. “What’s going on, Obi-Wan?” 

Obi-Wan blew out a sigh, and took a hitched breath in. “Can you take my implant out? Safely? So I don’t get all messed up again?” 

Mij stared. He swallowed, obviously, adam’s apple bobbing. “I can.” He said carefully. “Why?” 

“What’s- what’s the process? How does it work?” Obi-Wan asked, and wet his lips. 

“Let’s sit down.” Mij guided him gently to sit on his old bed, kicking his hoverstool over and settling his weight back onto it. “Where’s this coming from?” 

“Mij.” Obi-Wan grumbled. “Buir. Please just tell me how it works, then I’ll explain, okay?” 

Mij watched him carefully. “Okay, Ob’ika.” He nudged his hoverstool over to one of the medical fridges against the back wall and retrieved an IV fluid bag, the liquid inside viscous and sort of pinkish. He scooted back over, and laid the bag on the bed beside him. “After I remove the implant, I would hook you up to this, which would flush through any residual artificial hormones, and put you back to baseline.” He gave Obi-Wan a slightly bemused look. “I could have given this to you last time, had you not decided to breastfeed an ad.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at him, and got a chuffed laugh in response. “So, then I’ll feel- normal, but with the scent and everything else?” 

“It’ll certainly be less intense than last time, and you’ll be a little more prepared for it anyway. The more time you spend without the suppressants, the more used to your new urges you’ll get. Ob’ika, is this something you want to do? Do you want me to remove your implant?” 

Obi-Wan licked his lips, his throat suddenly dry, but he held his head high when he met Mij’s gaze once more. “Yes.” 

Mij watched him, without blinking, for long moments. “Does this mean-?” He rasped, emotion making his voice tight. 

“I’m staying.” Mij was up and off the hoverstool faster than Obi-Wan could track, hauling him off the bed and into his arms. Obi-Wan laughed, the sound clear and bright, and patted him gently on the back. “I need to formally resign from the Order, and probably go home to make some goodbyes, give out my new comm number, but yes, I’m staying.” 

“I’m so happy.” Mij said, voice thick, muffled by Obi-Wan’s hair. “I’m so happy.” Obi-Wan rubbed his buir’s back, a grin creeping across his face. “Oh, kark!” Mij drew back and grasped his shoulders again. “Does Jango know?” 

Obi-Wan felt his smile turn a little smug. “No. I wanted to tell him after I’d had the implant removed. I’ve been missing being able to scent him and Boba, so I bet he’s been feeling the same.” 

Mij looked at him seriously. “Ad’ika, if you walk out there smelling all omega-like again, there’s a real chance our alor is going to bend you over the closest surface, witnesses be damned.” 

“Buir!” Obi-Wan laughed, scandalised. “He’s not an animal!” 

Mij made an unconvinced noise, so Obi-Wan thumped him on the arm. 

“I’m giving you a contraceptive implant, just in case.” He warned, and hoisted the fluid bag into his hand, dragging a stand over to hang it. “Better lie down then, ad. It’s time for your new life to begin.” 

***

Jango skimmed with interest through the documents that the Jetiise had recovered from the Governor. What a fine mess this was; a traitor in the Senate. He was glad that it was their mess to sort out, and not his. He was also grateful for the payment they’d delivered, though it would not have been a wasted trip had they not received it, not when he’d had a chance to see Boba in Obi-Wan’s arms once more. 

He hadn’t seen the omega since he’d put Boba down for his nap, but his son would be stirring soon, and hoped that they would be able to spend more time together before the Jetiise departed. He knew that it wouldn’t be much longer, with how easily the Governor had given up his co-conspirators, but he was doing his best not to think about how much it would hurt to be parted again. How much it would hurt Boba. He’d left Vhonte on babysitting duty again; one of the few verde who could really handle his ad and his many mood swings. He was a feral little shabuir, if Jango was being completely honest. Kriff, he loved him. She’d bring the boy back through to the karyai once he was awake, so hopefully Obi-Wan would have emerged by then. 

He noticed that he also hadn’t seen Mij in a while, so he figured they were just taking some time to bond, ad and buir. He remembered how furious he’d been when the baar’ur had revealed that he’d said the gai bal manda to Obi-Wan in Sundari, how jealous. Which he recognised now was completely irrational, but at the time he had been completely irrational. He’d still been fairly hopped up on all the insane pheromones he and Obi-Wan had been pumping out between them, and then he’d been a little crazy from watching the omega walk away from him. 

And a little heartbroken, too. 

So to hear that another Mando’ad, even one he loved as much as Mij, had put a claim on the omega? Yeah, he’d been furious. But now, he was just pleased that Obi-Wan had the old alpha, had the offer of another family if he ever needed one, without any strings attached. 

Jango focussed on Obi-Wan’s existing family. His ba’buir had finally stopped being quite so antagonistic, although the sophisticated Jetii was still giving him the stink eye whenever their gazes met. Jinn, on the other hand, seemed utterly at peace. Any worry voiced by his fellows about the mess waiting for them back on Coruscant was met with mild mannered assurances and humour, and any time he caught Jango looking at him, he graced him with a smile so gentle that he’d once looked behind himself to see if it was being directed at someone else. 

The third of the group, Master Windu, who it seemed outranked all of them, he couldn’t figure out at all. He was stoic, but polite enough when he spoke. The strange thing was that he wouldn’t really look at Jango at all, and when he did, it seemed like it physically pained him. Force osik, most likely. 

“I fear it would be beyond our mandate to assist you in tracking down Kyr’tsad, though I am willing to petition the Senate to allow us to return if you would like, Alor Fett.” Windu said, once again, looking just slightly beside Jango, rather than directly at him. 

He scoffed. “And how long will that take? Three tenday? It’s alright. You deal with your nest of vipers, I’ll deal with mine.” 

A smile passed over Jinn’s lips. “I presume you aren’t referring to our beloved Republic Senate, when you say ‘your nest of vipers’.” He said, mildly. 

Jango shot him a sharp grin. “Of course not.” They shared a look of amusement, until Dooku cleared his throat pointedly. 

“Then, I think we have nothing more to discuss, Alor Fett.” The old Master intoned, and unfolded himself to stand to his full, impressive height. He may be thin, but Jango really wasn’t sure he’d have liked having to take him in a fight. 

“Buir!” An excited yelp from the doorway drew Jango’s attention, and he turned his head to see Vhonte cross the threshold with his wriggling ad in her arms. Boba reached out for Jango as soon as they were within touching distance and he hoisted him over onto his own hip. 

“Good nap, Bob’ika?” He asked, bouncing the ad a little on his hip. He was a bit big for that sort of thing now, but made no complaint. Boba made an affirmative noise, and then turned in his arms to look at the Jetiise. Jango glanced up to find all three of them staring at his ad intensely. Right, they probably knew about Boba and Obi-Wan, and what Obi-Wan had done for him. 

He cleared his throat. “This is Boba, my son.” He told the Jetiise. “Obi-Wan saved his life.” The three stared for a moment longer and then Jinn rose, a little unsteadily, to his feet. He stepped close enough that he could offer a giant hand out to the ad, who grasped three of his fingers seriously. 

“Hello, Boba. My name is Qui-Gon, I’m Obi-Wan’s buir.” The long-haired Jetii told him, and Boba immediately perked up in his arms. 

“Obi’s buir?!” he exclaimed in excitement and kicked Jango in the side in his effort to reach Jinn. To save himself from the flailing limbs, he simply passed the squirming body over to the Jetii, who seemed surprised, but settled Boba onto his own hip readily enough. His ad immediately gathered a handful of long, greying hair and yanked. To the Jetii’s credit, he barely winced. 

Dooku stepped closer to where Jinn, essentially his own ad, held Boba carefully. Jango tensed a little, not feeling the same level of trust for Obi-Wan’s severe ba’buir that he did his buir, but the old Master merely reached out to gently stroke Boba’s cheek. Boba gazed up at him, and flung out a hand to stroke at his beard, seemingly impressed by it. 

Ade , he thought, they always bring people together. 

“Oh, fuck .” Jango jerked out of his thoughts and turned sharply toward the empathic swear. It was Myles, who had finally relaxed enough around the Jetiise to remove his buy’ce, so Jango could see the wide-eyed look of surprise on his face. He followed his vod’s gaze to the doorway, where Obi-Wan stood, Mij a half step behind him. 

He felt his face break into a smile before he stopped to consider why Myles had been swearing. It only took Obi-Wan four steps into the room before he knew, before the scent that Myles had already picked up reached him, and then he was striding to meet Obi-Wan in the middle of the room. 

“Jango-” Obi-Wan had time to gasp, before Jango swept him into his arms, burying his face into the omega’s neck, taking deep, huffing breaths through his nose, to greedily savour every bit of his scent; sweet, glorious, and unsuppressed. 

“Your scent.” He gruffed out against Obi-Wan’s skin, and the omega laughed gently, nuzzling his own face into Jango’s hair, taking noisy breaths of his own. 

“I know.” He murmured, and rubbed his cheek firmly against Jango’s head, combining their scents. 

Jango managed to gather himself together enough to pull back and raise his head, still pressed so close to the omega that they shared breath. “Why?” He asked, not yet daring to hope. 

Obi-Wan smiled at him, his chin dropping into that shy tilt of his, eyes glancing up through lashes. Desire kicked hard in Jango’s gut, as it always did. “I want to stay this time.” His omega murmured, quiet, just for them, and his cheekbones tinted red, in that way that Jango loved. “If that’s still what you want?” 

“Cyare.” He breathed, reaching up to cup Obi-Wan’s face in his hands, the heat of his skin blazing against his palms. “I don’t remember what it feels like not to be in love with you. Of course , that’s what I want.” 

Obi-Wan’s face broke into a beautiful smile, bigger than Jango thought he’d ever seen, and he could do nothing but lean forward and kiss that smiling mouth. The sensation of the beard against his lips was different, but Jango loved it immediately. Obi-Wan laughed against him, and it was awkward, but Jango was determined and angled his head to slide their mouths together more comfortably. He managed to lick, once, across the seam of his omega’s lips, before they both remembered where they were and drew back from one another, embarrassed. 

Mij looked smug, Myles looked shocked and Vhonte looked like she would rather be literally anywhere else on the ship. Jango turned to look over his shoulder at the Jetiise, who were, frankly, unreadable. He turned back to Obi-Wan. “What about your family?” 

The omega reached up to run a thumb, softly down the side of Jango’s face. “I know something that I didn’t two years ago.” He looked over Jango’s shoulder, his eyes fond, before they flicked back to focus on his face. “I won’t lose them by doing this. My family will just get a little bigger.” 

And what could Jango do, in the face of that, but kiss him again. At which point, his ad decided there was not enough attention on him and let out a demanding shriek. 

“Obi!” 

“Better get used to that.” Jango muttered into Obi-Wan’s mouth, who leaned back and beamed. 

“I’m here, dear one.” The omega called, stepping out of the circle of Jango’s arms to retrieve Boba from Jinn, who passed the wriggling thing over, and then leaned in to press his forehead to Obi-Wan’s. 

Windu sank back into his seat with a loud sigh of relief, face more relaxed and expressive than Jango had ever seen it. “Thank the force. I thought that shatterpoint was actually going to kill me.” 

Epilogue: Together

Obi-Wan watched Boba smear a chunk of chocolate cake across his face, getting approximately a third of it actually into his mouth. He couldn’t help but watch indulgently as Jango reached out to rub at him with a flimsi napkin. The boy dodged the napkin mostly, and just went in for more cake. It was Boba’s fifth nameday and he was absolutely loving all of the attention on him, holding court at the Mand’alor’s table in the smart, little outfit Obi-Wan had put him in. He was getting so tall now, compared to the babe he’d been when Obi-Wan had first met him, and they’d let his curls grow almost to his shoulders, flyaways framing his chubby cheeks like a halo. Jaster reckoned he was going to be taller than both his buire when he was grown. 

Jango went in again with the napkin and this time managed to hold a little chin still long enough to be mopped at. He looked up and caught Obi-Wan watching, and his eyes crinkled in response, warm and happy. Obi-Wan grinned at him, and knew that he probably looked just as dopey. 

His comm beeped, and he tapped at the kom’rk Jango had given him a year ago, when he’d asked for them to become riduure. The figure of his old Master manifested from the small holoprojector built into the wrist, washed out in the blue of the projection, but smiling fondly at seeing Obi-Wan. 

“Su cuy’gar!” Qui-Gon greeted him, accent as atrocious as ever. Myles snorted into his drink somewhere beside Obi-Wan, so he used a tiny nudge of the Force to tip his ne’tra gal down his front. There was a great deal of muttered swearing as the liquid splattered down the neck of his kute which was partially unzipped above his hal’cabur, and presumably settled like swamp water beneath the waterproof fabric. 

“Hello, Master.” Obi-Wan grinned. Qui-Gon and Anakin were on a mission in the Outer Rim; an easy diplomatic task, in recognition of Qui-Gon’s young learner. They were going to swing by Manda’yaim on their way back to Coruscant in about a tenday and Obi-Wan couldn’t wait to see them both. “How’s the terror?” 

Qui-Gon chuckled. “He’s well. Taking apart the conservator at the moment, or he’d be yanking at my robes to let him speak to you.”

“Hmm. Think he’ll be able to put it back together this time?” Obi-Wan teased. 

“I’m sure one day he’ll get it.” Qui-Gon said mildly. “How’s your terror?” 

“Boba is an angel, as usual.” Obi-Wan sniffed. 

“For you.” Jango muttered resentfully from behind him. He startled a little, looking over his shoulder at his riduur; surprised that he’d managed to get up from the table and come around to Obi-Wan’s side without him noticing. But then, their scents really were so intermingled now that it was difficult to pick them out as individuals. 

“Su cuy’gar, Qui-Gon.” Jango greeted and got a bow in return, Qui-Gon’s face creased in a smile. 

“Did you receive Boba’s gift?” Obi-Wan’s old Master enquired, a twinkle in his eye. 

“Yes, thank you so much.” Jango returned flatly. “He loves it.” Qui-Gon had sent them some kind of a hideous toad, which was presumably a pathetic life form he’d picked up on his and Anakin’s travels but had been forbidden from taking back to the Temple. Boba loved the awful thing instantly; Jango and Obi-Wan, less so. 

Qui-Gon smiled, pleased. “I knew he would.”

“Hmm.” Jango told him. “When are we expecting you?” 

“Earlier than planned, as it happens! Things wrapped up here rather quickly after Anakin called the Crown Prince a sleemo, so assuming we’ve not starved to death without the conservator, you’ll have us in a fiveday.” Qui-Gon replied, serenely. 

“I have at least ten vode who’ll adopt him in a heartbeat when they hear that, if you want rid.” Jango told him. 

Qui-Gon tipped his head back to laugh. “I’ll bear that in mind the next time he steals a speeder.” 

“Dini’la mando’karla ad’ika.” Jango said fondly, and then leant over to kiss the top of Obi-Wan’s head. “I’m going to take the little man to get cleaned up and put him down for the night before he gets too grouchy. See you at home?” He asked into Obi-Wan’s hair. 

“Yes, darling.” Obi-Wan replied and tilted his head back further for an upside down kiss. Jango obliged him and straightened. 

“See you soon, cerar.” The Mando’ade had started calling Qui-Gon that the first time he’d agreed to spar with them and not a single one had been able to knock him from his feet. 

Qui-Gon was distracted from bidding Obi-Wan’s riduur a proper goodbye by a crash somewhere in the distance on his end of the call, followed by a shrill and slightly muffled call of “nothing happened!” 

Qui-Gon sighed and exchanged a look with Obi-Wan; one that parents the galaxy over recognised. “We’ll see you soon. Love to you both.” Obi-Wan told him, and Qui-Gon returned the sentiment and ended the call. 

“Did I hear that cerar is bringing that little monster here in a fiveday now?” Obi-Wan grinned across the table at his buir’be’rid. Jaster raised both his thick eyebrows and made a hand sign that some believed warded off evil. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t worry, he’s banned from experimenting with pyrotechnics again until he’s at least fourteen.”

“May the Manda have mercy on us.” Jaster muttered, and started to stack plates on the table. Several verde stood to help him, and Obi-Wan quickly shovelled the last few bites of his own cake into his mouth, just about managing not to moan at the flavour. He’d had his contraceptive implant removed two days ago and had been craving sweet foods like mad while his hormones rebalanced. 

He and Jango been talking about ade for a few months now, not wanting Boba to be so much older than his siblings that it was alienating, and Obi-Wan was planning to surprise his riduur with the news tonight. When he’d gone to his buir to ask him for the surgery, he’d actually wept, and Obi-Wan had to sit there awkwardly patting the medic on the back while he sniffled about bu’ade. Silly, old alpha softie. 

Gently adding his own plate to a stack, Obi-Wan stood to grasp it, only for his hands to be slapped aside. “Nayc. You set all this up, let us clear away. You just get yourself home.” Jaster smiled at him, leaning over to bump their foreheads together quickly. 

“Thank you, Jas’buir.” Obi-Wan smiled, and let himself be steered out of the way of the clean up operation, accepting the party bag of leftover cake that Myles thrust upon him with a grunt. Jango’s best friend had taken a little while to re-warm to him after he’d broken Jango’s heart, but Obi-Wan knew he understood that they both had to be sure; that his choice to return to Coruscant was a necessary one. The loyalty of a vod meant that there was still some lingering, if not resentment, then caution. Obi-Wan did not begrudge him. 

With his little package of cake, Obi-Wan strode from the karyai of the Mand’alor’s compound, whistling a little as he went. His and Jango’s home was still technically within the same vheh’yaim, but separate enough from Jaster to give them the privacy that a young family needed. It was also safe enough that the only armour Obi-Wan wore was his marriage kom’rk over a light shirt and trousers, embroidered in the Mando’ad way at cuffs and hem. He rarely wore full beskar’gam, much to his riduur’s eternal displeasure, but he would normally strap on hal’ and nor’cabure and motun’bure to leave the compound. Since Galidraan, Death Watch activity had been volatile and frequent, but Jango and Jaster’s forces were growing closer to pinning down Vizsla every day. 

There was still plenty of time to have joyful days such as this. 

At home, Obi-Wan stowed his cake in their, thankfully intact, conservator and busied himself tidying a few of Boba’s toys away. He could hear the low rumble of Jango’s voice from Boba’s room, likely reading ‘The Mandalorian and the Krayt Dragon’ , Boba’s current favourite storybook, even though it was written in basic and had been produced in the Republic. The lore around Mando’ade was a little off, but it painted them as great heroes, so Boba loved it. 

Finally, after he’d run a damp cloth over the surfaces in the kitchen, the murmur of his alpha’s voice cut off and there was the swish of Boba’s door opening, ejecting Jango quietly into the karyai. He’d stripped his armour to the waist, and Obi-Wan could enjoy the flex of muscles across his broad shoulders, and strong arms. Jango beamed when he saw Obi-Wan, and his own expression softened helplessly with love. “Out like a light.” His riduur reported, coming near enough to loop both arms around Obi-Wan’s waist and tug him in close to his own body. 

“Mm.” Obi-Wan murmured, rolling a little onto his tiptoes so that he could glide his mouth over Jango’s in a tease. “Then it looks like we’re all alone, Alor Fett. Whatever will you do with me?” 

Jango chased after him and angled his head so that he could lick at Obi-Wan’s top lip. “I don’t know, Ser Fett,” he breathed, the air between their mouths infinitesimal, and stickily humid, “whatever will I do with you?” His alpha leaned down to take his mouth properly, one hand sliding to the small of his back to yank him up against Jango’s semi-armoured front, tongue licking filthily, deeply, inside his mouth until he could only moan helplessly. 

When Jango let him draw back for breath, he panted it into his lungs in great gulps, knowing that his eyes were blown wide with desire, his cheeks flushed red, and he could feel himself getting wet and stiff within his trousers. “Take me to bed, darling.” He gasped, and Jango grasped urgently at his thighs, hoisting him up his own body until Obi-Wan had to wrap his legs around his alpha’s waist, groin pressing tight against the other’s ven’cabur. 

Jango took his mouth once more, their exchange of spit sloppy and desperate, as he backed them slowly towards their bedroom. He stumbled a little near the threshold, and had to tear his mouth away and put Obi-Wan’s back against the wall by their door to steady them. Obi-Wan took the opportunity to duck down and bite hard at the alpha’s neck, taking a tendon between his teeth and pressing. His riduur groaned a guttural sound and his hips jerked, helplessly, against him, driving Obi-Wan back against the wall until the knobs of his spine ached. 

Without taking his mouth off his alpha’s throat, Obi-Wan reached out to slap at the door control beside him until it opened and Jango could haul him back more securely into his arms and get them over the threshold. The light was on and the evidence of how quickly Jango had stripped out of the top half of his beskar’gam to put Boba to bed was seen in the way the pieces were strewn haphazardly across the sheets, rather than on their armour rack. When Jango dumped him down onto the bed, Obi-Wan immediately yelped as a bes’marbur dug into his back. Jango sat back on his heels, panting, lips kiss-swollen and slick. “What?” He asked, eyes narrowing at Obi-Wan, looking for injury. Obi-Wan squirmed a hand underneath himself and produced the lump of beskar. 

“Maybe let’s take a beat to clear this up, huh?” He laughed breathlessly, flopping backwards a little more comfortably now that he could. Jango chuckled sheepishly, but took the armour from him, and started to gather up the other pieces. Obi-Wan lay, relaxed, on his back and twisted his head to watch his riduur stack the pieces on their rack with care. He smiled fondly. Force, he loved this man. “I have a surprise for you.” He said, low, voice filled with promise. 

Jango looked over from where he was unstrapping a motun-bur from his leg to add to the rack and quirked a brow. “Vos finally convince you to offer me a threesome?”

“What?!” Obi-Wan squawked, sitting up. “How do you know about that?” 

Jango’s laugh was warm, and the crinkles around his eyes made Obi-Wan’s insides feel a little gloopy. “Cyare, you two are very loud when you’re drunk, and last time Vos was here, he asked if he could watch me fuck you.” 

Obi-Wan blew a raspberry and flopped back down. “He did not.” 

Jango started on his left tadun’bur, foot kicked up on his thigh, like Obi-Wan had seen him do a thousand times before. “He absolutely did. I was trying to put you to bed, but you get as many arms as a rathtar when you’re drunk and kept groping me,” Obi-Wan tried to interrupt to deny this but Jango just raised his voice to speak over him, now working on the right foot, “and he said that if I was going to let you have a piece, he should get to watch because he’s your best friend.” 

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, then closed it. Quinlan certainly might have said something like that. Probably. Definitely. “I assume I’d remember if you acquiesced.” He said, primly. 

Jango gave him a flat look and, finally free of his beskar, prowled closer, pressing first one knee, then the other into the bedspread, so that he could slink up and hover over Obi-Wan’s body. “Sweetheart,” He murmured against Obi-Wan’s lips, “you’re mine, and I don’t share.” Obi-Wan felt his lips tilt into a pleased smile before they were seized once more in a rough kiss. Jango dug his teeth into soft flesh, making his mouth feel bruised and sensitive and wonderful, before his tongue smoothed over the hurt. Obi-Wan moaned, and his hips moved in helpless little jerks, but Jango was still hovering above him, too far for him to get any friction. 

“Jango.” He whined. 

Jango hummed against him in return, turning his head a little to kiss at the corner of his mouth, rubbing his lips into the bristles of Obi-Wan’s beard. “What’s my surprise, cyare?” 

“Oh.” Obi-Wan murmured. He’d forgotten for a moment. “Buir took out my implant.” Jango froze above him, lips now ghosting over his cheekbone. Obi-Wan could feel his breath gusting warm and clammy across his skin, rustling his hair, just slightly. He held for a beat, and Obi-Wan took measured breaths, letting him process, then with a great flex of his strong biceps Jango pushed himself up higher so he could stare properly into Obi-Wan’s eyes. 

“You mean-?”

Obi-Wan let a grin spread slowly. “I want us to have a baby.” Jango stared for another long moment, then his whole body was pressed to Obi-Wan’s, his tongue pushing eagerly into his mouth, and his hands grasped urgently at their clothing. He couldn’t help but laugh against the desperate alpha’s lips. 

“Omega.” Jango groaned, and ducked down to nose at Obi-Wan’s throat, where his scent was strongest. 

“Alpha.” Obi-Wan sighed, and reached up to run his fingers through Jango’s curls, scratching at the back of his head. 

“Gonna fuck you.” Jango mumbled into his neck, mostly muffled. 

“Okay.” He said, still petting. 

“Gonna put a baby in you.” The alpha continued. 

Obi-Wan grinned up at the ceiling. “I’d like that.” He felt his riduur’s hands at the hem of his shirt, moving with more purpose now, and Obi-Wan slid his own spare hand down to help yank the material up to below his armpits; a difficult feat with a hot body pressed so completely on top of his. He tried to use his grasp on Jango’s hair to encourage the alpha out of his neck so the shirt could come all the way off, but he just got growled at. He laughed, gently, and scratched his fingers harder until Jango purred. 

“Darling, unless you intend to impregnate me with the power of thought alone, I need you to sit up a bit.” His voice was warm with mirth, and he laughed when Jango just dug his nose in hard one last time to his neck, and then drew back enough that they could look into one another’s eyes. His riduur’s were golden and liquid with arousal and happiness. They flicked back and forth between Obi-Wan’s then dropped to his lips, then lower. Jango ducked his head a little as he peered down Obi-Wan’s body and Obi-Wan got a mouthful of the curls on the top of his head. 

“Kriff.” Jango whispered, reverent. 

Obi-Wan turned his head to mostly clear his mouth. “What?” Jango didn’t answer, just kept staring down Obi-Wan’s body, until one of alpha’s hands raised from the bed and landed softly on Obi-Wan’s ribs. He felt a shudder run through him at the touch of skin on skin, his alpha’s flesh scorching, then Jango’s hand slid higher until it was pressed over one of Obi-Wan’s flat pecs, rocking his palm over the nipple so that it hardened. 

“You’ll be full again.” The alpha rasped, voice wrecked. Ah, Obi-Wan thought. 

“Yes.” He murmured. “Swollen full to feed our ad.” 

Jango groaned, and pitched face first into his chest. Obi-Wan brought his other hand up so that both were buried in his riduur’s hair. “And after, when they’ve had their fill and I’m still sore and aching, I’ll have my alpha to look after me.” He continued, and felt the way Jango thrust against his thigh, hard and hot under his kute. He ground his forehead against Obi-Wan’s breastbone and worked his hips, whimpering a little between his teeth as he rutted. 

Obi-Wan took the opportunity of unobstructed access to ruck the shirt the rest of the way over his head and discard it over the side of the mattress, sinking his hands immediately back into that hair. Jango’s other hand appeared over his ribs, both pecs now cupped and squeezed under his palms, as he continued to work himself into Obi-Wan’s thigh, the fabric of both their pants wet with how much the alpha was leaking precome. He could see that Jango’s eyes were screwed up and that he was totally lost in his pleasure, breath gusting harsh and hot across Obi-Wan’s belly. He was loath to interrupt the alpha when he was making himself feel so good, but he didn’t want him to come in his pants; Obi-Wan had plans for that knot, after all. 

“Baby.” He gasped and tugged at the curls again, succeeding in lifting Jango’s forehead from his chest. The alpha’s eyes opened to slits and his pupils were so huge and black that he looked drugged. “Baby, need you inside. Need you to fuck me.” Jango blinked at him for a long, lazy moment, hips still working, and then some of the haze lifted and he was nodding desperately against Obi-Wan’s grip. He sat up suddenly, forcing Obi-Wan to let go or end up with two handfuls of hair ripped out at the root. Once he was kneeling, his hands dragged down from Obi-Wan’s chest to the waistband of his pants and underclothes together, tugging impatiently. 

Obi-Wan wriggled, hips lifting from the bed, in an effort to aid their journey down his legs and away, tossed somewhere in the room to be found later. As soon as he was bare, Jango descended on his cock, wrapping his lips around the head and slurping around it obscenely. Obi-Wan gasped, loud in the quiet room, nerve endings firing with ecstasy. “Don’t, don’t,” he said breathlessly, “I’m too close.” He was feeling very sensitive, and Jango’s desperation was turning him on so much. 

Jango gave another hard suck and then popped off, his lips shiny with spit. He gazed down at Obi-Wan, his big chest heaving beneath his kute. “Get undressed.” Obi-Wan told him gently, reaching up to pinch at the fabric. “I want to see you.” Jango continued to stare, nose flaring like a rancor about to charge. Obi-Wan assumed he was snorting in their combined pheromones, his more sensitive alpha nose picking up nuances that he couldn’t. He tilted his chin down so that he could look up at his riduur through his lashes. “Please, alpha.” 

That did it. Jango exploded into motion again, tugging his kute open so roughly that Obi-Wan was sure that, had it not been armourweave, it would have torn. The alpha rolled onto his side beside Obi-Wan so that he could shimmy the bodysuit down over his hips and kick it down his legs. Obi-Wan took the opportunity to spread his own legs and reach down to pet through the wet folds beneath his cock. Jango growled in warning, but he still had the kute tangled around his ankles, so Obi-Wan slipped two fingers up into his own heat. 

“Omega!” Jango reprimanded sharply, finally freeing himself from his fabric prison and rolling back over Obi-Wan to grasp at his wrist. “That’s for me to do.” 

Obi-Wan moaned, high and a little exaggerated. “But it feels so good, alpha.” Jango growled again and Obi-Wan felt himself get wetter in response. He managed to tug Obi-Wan’s questing fingers back out and replaced them quickly with his own, thicker, longer ones. Obi-Wan moaned again, more real, but just as loud and pulled his hand up out of the way, fingers shining with slick. Jango stared intently at where his hand was working between Obi-Wan’s legs, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but writhe at how good the fingers felt, how good it was to be watched like that. 

“Jango.” He breathed out on a groan, and his riduur’s eyes snapped up to look at his face. Obi-Wan reached out to tuck his wet fingers into the alpha’s mouth, who happily devoured them, making small sounds of pleasure in his throat that Obi-Wan could feel the vibrations of against his hand. Jango set his sharp canines against his knuckles and pressed down just enough to make him feel it, before slipping a third finger into his pussy. He pressed his head back into the pillow below him and shuddered. “Now, now, please now.” He uttered mindlessly, taking his wet hand back, and Jango pushed his fingers in for a handful more hard thrusts that stirred filthy sounds from Obi-Wan’s body, then slid them free. 

He shuffled closer on his knees, taking the undersides of Obi-Wan’s thighs in his hands and pressing them upwards. Obi-Wan expected him to stop at a modest spread to accommodate the width of his hips between them, but he didn’t, he kept up that inexorable pressure until Obi-Wan was practically curled in half, knees around his ears, and weight mostly balanced on his shoulders. He spread his arms wide on the bed to steady himself. “Jango?” He asked, voice tight from his ribcage being mostly compressed. His alpha didn’t reply, and just shuffled closer, so that the fronts of his thighs pressed to Obi-Wan’s lower back where it was curled up and exposed, and raised up onto his knees properly. 

Obi-Wan gasped as he realised how Jango intended to take him, and bit his lip around the plaintive whine that rose in his throat. He loved being fucked like this, with his riduur thrusting down into him, touching him impossibly deeply, punching hard into his g-spot with every thrust, his cockhead kissing against his cervix ruthlessly. Obi-Wan had laid down a challenge to get him pregnant, and by Force did it seem like Jango was intending to deliver. 

“Okay?” Jango leant over him to murmur, and all Obi-Wan could do was nod desperately. The alpha drew his lower lip between his teeth and took one hand away from where they were still pushing on Obi-Wan’s thighs to keep him spread, to line up and steady his cock. Obi-Wan felt that hot, silken flesh nudge against his tender hole, gathering slick, and thrusting easily through the channel of his pussy lips to coat himself. It slipped, slick, to kiss against the base of his own cock, once, twice, then, all at once Jango slid it back down and in, filling him completely in one steady thrust. Obi-Wan felt his breath stop in his chest, it felt so good, and his eyelashes fluttered helplessly. The thick length drew back, leaving emptiness behind, until Jango carved back inside with a grunt. 

“Yes!” Obi-Wan found enough breath to hiss between clenched teeth, and Jango took it as his cue to speed up, each hard thrust down and in knocking a sound from Obi-Wan. “Ah, ah, ah!” He panted as his alpha’s cock filled him perfectly, each movement going deep inside him, pounding continuously against his g-spot, grinding in unimaginably deep inside him. 

“Sweetheart.” Jango groaned above him, hunching down like an animal, both hands now behind Obi-Wan’s knees pressing them into the mattress. Obi-Wan spared a second to thank his flexibility, and the Jedi training that had granted it to him, before he once again became incoherent with pleasure. “Good boy, good boy. Take it.” The thrusts got harder and Obi-Wan shouted, the walls of his pussy trembling against the assault, his stomach muscles jumping and tightening as he approached orgasm. “Yes, yes!” His alpha grunted, hips pumping until the bed squeaked in complaint beneath them, and Obi-Wan had to turn his face into the pillow to muffle the near continuous wail being forced from his lips. Blearily he reached with both hands, one going to grasp once more at Jango’s hair, twining tight into those curls, and the other wrapping around his own cock to work it quickly as he neared the edge. 

His fingers tightened, likely to the point of pain, in his alpha’s hair as he began to come, pussy clamping down so hard that Jango’s thrusts had to slow, though he kept up a steady assault to work Obi-Wan through his pleasure, each plunge in hard and deep . He felt it in waves, each shuddering through his body and making his muscles clench. His cock dripped spend, thin and vestigial, against the clenched definition of his abs, and down further to streak across his chest where he was curled over himself, his nipples getting glossy with it. He let go of himself when it became too much, the pleasure turning oversensitive and shocky, and gasped in a breath, shaking as Jango’s cock continued to bully its way inside him. “Alpha.” He whined, fingers not releasing their death grip on the man above him. “Want your knot, want your come.” 

Jango growled, and leaned down lower over him, hips moving urgently. “I know, sweetheart, I’ve got it. I’ve got it for you.” And Obi-Wan could feel it now, the swell starting at the base of his alpha’s cock, stretching his rim on each pass in and out, working the muscles as it popped by, sending shivery jolts of sensation up his spine. 

“Oh, please.” He whimpered and with a grunt, Jango snapped his hips once, twice, and stilled, his knot swelling, blood hot, to its full size as he began to come. His chest rumbled with a deep sound of alpha pleasure and his hips worked in little jerks against Obi-Wan’s body, drawing out both of their pleasure. Tipped up and curled over the way Obi-Wan was, it meant that Jango was coming directly against his cervix, as close to his womb as he could, his alpha absolutely determined to do as his omega had asked and give him a baby. 

Jango panted for a little longer, eyes screwed up, until eventually the intensity began to peter out and his jerking hips slowed to minute circles. His lids slid up to reveal those beloved, golden eyes, and Obi-Wan grinned at him. “Think that’s done it, alor?” 

Jango smirked, even as sweat dripped down into his eyes. “Won’t stop until it has.” He told him, looking very pleased with himself. 

“Not in this position.” Obi-Wan said, using his grip to shake the alpha’s head a little. “My everything is starting to hurt, can we sit up?” Jango nodded, and immediately used his grip on Obi-Wan’s knees to draw them down around his hips in a more natural position, and then scooped both arms behind Obi-Wan’s back. He couldn’t help the gasp as his riduur rolled them, losing his grip on those curls in the process, but was much pleased with the result. Now astride the alpha, Obi-Wan sat up straight and grinned down at him. Jango smiled lazily back, and tucked one arm behind his head. 

“Best view in the galaxy.” He said, and reached up with his other hand to palm at Obi-Wan’s pecs again. Obi-Wan bent his head to watch the broad, tan hand against his paler skin. 

“You’re not going to be able to keep your hands off me once my breasts grow back in, are you?” He asked, amused. 

“Nope.” His alpha said smugly, and flicked at his hardened nipple. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but smile. 

“We’re trying for a baby.” He said with wonderment. 

Jango’s lips curved upwards slowly and his eyes were as soft as Obi-Wan thought he’d ever seen them. “Yeah, cyare. We are. I can’t wait for our family to get bigger.” 

Our family, Obi-Wan thought giddily. For so long he’d thought he’d known what he wanted, had pushed aside any feeling that something was missing, but now here he was, held close by Jango, his alpha, his riduur, while their ad slept down the hall and they worked to put another into Obi-Wan’s belly. 

Tomorrow he would have lunch with his buir, and Mij would probably bring some kind of medical pamphlet about how to conceive, to embarrass him, and in a fiveday, Qui-Gon and Anakin would arrive and his Padawan brother would tear about the place gathering himself potential buire and enemies in equal measure. Qui-Gon would continue on his current campaign to make up for all the affection he felt he hadn’t sufficiently shown Obi-Wan early in their apprenticeship, and would hold him until his omega side purred with satisfaction. 

Quinlan had promised to bring Bant and Siri and Garen the next time he came to visit, and just last week Obi-Wan had received a package of exotic teas from Grand Master Dooku. Even Masters Windu and Yoda wrote lengthy missives keeping him updated about the goings on at the Temple. Mace Windu, as it turned out, was an incorrigible gossip.  

Obi-Wan was loved, and he was happier than he had ever believed possible. 

“What is it?” Jango murmured below him, reaching up to thumb at his cheeks until Obi-Wan realised his eyes were wet.

“I’m just happy.” He whispered and leant over to kiss him. The alpha was confused, but kissed back gently. “I love you.” 

Jango smiled, gorgeous, below him. “I love you too.”